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A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 



BY / 

W. THOS. CARDEN. 


PUBLISHING HOUSE , 
OF M.E.CHUfiOH SOUTH 


Nashville, Tenn.: 
Printed for the Author. 



5052 


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DEDICATION. 


^0 tbe Sons of /Hbinisters, 


Who are Striving to Make M^n* of. Themselves and to be 
OF Use Both to Church and State, 

Ubis 3Boob is affectlonatelis Unscrlbeb 

By the Author. 




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PREFACE. 


All readers, especially young ones, should know 
what they are reading. Many authors of fiction try 
to make their readers believe their work is real. This 
is a false step, I think; for we will have some char- 
acters, bad ones at that, walking around before we 
know it. I will tell my readers the truth concerning 
the following story. It is fictitious. It started with 
a true basis, however, interspersed with real incidents. 
It originated in a courtship of mine with a pure- 
charactered girl of a certain neighborhood. We 
were only friends, and exchanged a few letters of 
friendship for amusement; these I altered to suit 
this story. So you see I had a true basis, and sup- 
posed the rest. I do not like to leave my readers in 
doubt, so all may rest assured that I am not married. 

Some characters in the story are partly real, while 
others are not. I detest cliques who offer gilded 
critiques; and therefore they and all critics must 
not prepare for a literary feast, for they will not get 
it. All contained in this volume is of my own produc- 
tion, with a few paraphrases. I am no braggart, re- 
member. 

This story is intended to set forth the idea of a 
youthful marriage, as well as a hasty one, as some 
one has already said, “A hasty marriage ^eldom 
proveth well!” It is a pure, ideal Tennessee story 
of courtship and youthful marriage. While the au- 
thor has never experienced the truth of the statement 


6 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


above, he has observed very closely. He delights in 
such stories as this, and hopes that his production 
may be received with favor. 

This story is descriptive, teaches moral lessons, and 
has a deep religious undercurrent in it. The right 
is made to come forth victorious in the end. 

Hoping that the reader will have a happy ramble 
through this volume, and pardon my first attempt at 
literary work without any apologies from me, and ex- 
cuse what needs it, I will try to requite him with an- 
other attempt. 

May God bless each reader, especially the unmar- 
ried. If this story shall bind some true hearts in the 
blissful ties of the matrimonial relation, and they 
shall live long, peaceful lives, and have a pleasant 
journey down the stream of time, and at last anchor 
in the port of everlasting joy; and if all young peo- 
ple shall take the moral lessons of this volume, then 
the author will consider his work not in vain, but 
amply repaid, and will never repent having written 
the story. So here I leave it with the reader, to com- 
mend or condemn. W. Thos. Carden. 

Liberty, Tenn., July 24, 1896. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter I. page 

We Five 9 

Chapter II. 

Our Arrival at Uncle Jack’s 14 

Chapter III. 

First Sunday at Ledgerwood 17 

Chapter IV. 

The First Story 26 

Chapter V. 

Tom’s Story : The Fair Californian 32 

Chapter VI. 

The Broken Lily — Ethel’s Story 39 

Chapter VII. 

Mamie’s Story: A Forty Years’ Dance 44 

Chapter VIII. 

The Last Story: My Brother Joe 48 

Chapter IX. 

The Skating House 56 

Chapter X. 

Henrietta 61 

Chapter XI. 

Her Answer and Its Effect 65 

Chapter XII. 

My Answer and Its Effect 68 

Cahpter XIII. 

We Agree to Correspond 71 

CirAPTER XIV. 

Th.e Quarrel 74 


8 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


Chapter XV. 

The Quarrel (Continued) 79 

Chapter XVI. 

Decoration Day 82 

Chapter XVII. 

How Shall I Overcome Opposition? 85 

Chapter XVIII. 

Veni, Vidi, Vici 92 

Chapter XIX. 

How the Three Months Were Spent 95 

Chapter XX. 

The Proposal 102 

Chapter XXI. 

In Business 107 

Chapter XXII. 

At the Wedding 112 

• Chapter XXIII. 

A Long-looked-for Event 118 

Chapter XXIV. 

The Honeymoon 122 

Chapter XXV. 

Left 129 

Chapter XXVI. 

For Murder 134 

Chapter XXVII. 

The Sequel 137 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


CHAPTER I. 

We Five. 

Fondly will I remember that one year spent with 
my Uncle Jack Cartier, who lived at Ledgerwood, a 
quaint old town of perhaps a century’s age, nestled 
in the picturesque hills of beautiful Tennessee. 

My cousins, Ethel and Mamie Bell and Tom J ones, 
and my sister Lucy and myself, were invited to spend 
a twelvemonth with Uncle Jack. Lucy and I knew 
not that the others were invited, and we expected the 
year to be one of the sorriest in our young lives ; but 
we were mistaken, and the happiest year of my life 
was spent at Ledgerwood. Uncle Jack had invited 
us separately, so as to surprise us. 

I was nearly eighteen years old then, a stout, ro- 
bust fellow, full of life and fun, which seemed to 
bubble up in me; and all vrho came in contact with 
me were more or less infected with my happiness. I 
was mischievous and bent upon doing wrong; while 
sister Lucy was a fragile little maid of fifteen, and 
just my opposite in disposition. She seemed dull, 
stupid, and I did not think her much company, yet 
she was one of the most enticing and entertaining 
girls of her age, so mother said. I never stayed 
at home much, and could not bear indoor life. It 


10 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


seemed dreadful to me for one to stay in the house 
and hardly ever see the beautiful birds, green fields, 
blooming fiowers, and many other attractive things 
in nature. Lucy nearly always stayed in the house, 
for she was very delicately constituted. 

Cousin Ethel, who was just like her mother— Mrs. 
Bell, my father’s sister — was a good, meek little Chris- 
tian of fourteen years. She was ever afraid that she 
would do some wrong. Her sister Mamie was about 
like me: she enjoyed life, and wanted to have plenty 
of fun. She was nearly as old as myself, lacking 
only four months; a perfect tomboy. 

Cousin Tom Jones was a country lad of thirteen, 
the youngest of us five. He knew more of the trees, 
birds, and animals than an Indian, I thought. He 
was constantly studying and planning some way to 
catch rabbits, squirrels, or other creatures, and he 
had a host of pets. I remember, when I went to see 
him once, that he had three dogs— one a small shep- 
herd named Spy, another a great Newfoundland 
called Gladstone, and a small terrier known as Gen- 
eral; a cripple jay, which he had found on the road 
to school; a young rabbit; a squirrel; two young- 
ground squirrels, so sly and cunning that I was well 
entertained by watching him and his pets as well as 
listening to wild stories of them; also four cats, and 
I believe fifteen kittens, a yoke of oxen, and a parrot 
completed his menagerie. 

It was just after Christmas when Lucy and I start- 
ed. It was snowing a little, and was very cold. The 
distance from Lincoln, where we lived, to Ledger- 
wood was forty miles. Papa took us in the buggy to 
Chesterville, the nearest station, where we were to 


WE FIVE. 


11 


take the train. We got very cold on the way, and 
when we reached the station the train had not ar- 
rived. We told papa good-by; and he hitched old 
Dave, our family horse, and after giving us a little 
advice (and money) he started for home. We waited 
and waited, until finally the whistle announced the 
coming of the train. It arrived, and we went into 
the second coach and found a comfortable seat. 

We traveled fast, and were soon twenty miles from 
Chesterville. Lucy said that she was hungry; so 
when the train stopped I went and bought a dozen 
large, beautiful apples and some sandwiches. Lucy 
was soon satisfied. I told her that I was going into 
the next coaches and see who were in there. I went 
through two and was coming back, when the gaze of 
four brown eyes of two girls caught mine. I knew 
the owners in an instant: they were Cousin Ethel 
and Cousin Mamie. They w^ere very glad to see me, 
and asked me where Lucy was. I told them that she 
was in the second coach. They had gotten on the 
train at Shalyer’s Station, some twelve miles from 
where we then were. 

It was a grand surprise to Lucy to know that her 
cousins were on the train. They covered her pale 
cheeks with kisses; and all were surprised sure 
enough when in walked Tom. We did not kuow him 
at first, but he knew us. He was very saucy, and 
asked Mamie if she did not want a Christmas gift. 

“ Yes, indeed I do,” said she. 

“Well, reach in my pocket,” said Tom abstractedly. 

She reached in, of course, and drew out a large 
owl! She was very badly scared. It was jolly fun 
to us to see her so well scared. 


12 


A YEAB WITH UNCLE JACK. 


“ Why, cousins, did you all think of going to Un- 
cle Jack’s?” said Tom. “I thought I would be 
alone, and I did not want to go at all; but I am glad, 
so glad now, and to be with you, my dear cousins.” 

‘‘ I have lost my ring,” said little Ethel. “ Oh ! what 
shall I do? It was the one dear mother gave me just 
before she died, and I would not have taken anything 
for it. Cousins Tom and Will [Will was my name], 
will you not hunt it for me? ” 

‘‘Yes, of course,” said I; and “I too” came stoutly 
from Tom. 

We looked all around, under the seats and about 
our baggage, but without avail. 

“Maybe you have it put away,” said Lucy. 

“No, I do not think that I have; have I, Mamie?” 
said Ethel. 

“Yes; I think I saw you put it in Cousin Will’s 
purse awhile ago.” 

“ Yes, here it is,” said I, knowing where it was all 
the time. 

Ethel said: “You are a good boy. Will, but very 
forgetful.” 

I then made believe that I was going to steal the 
Irish woman’s baby that was asleep over in the oth- 
er corner. 

“ Will, do not do that,” said Lucy; “ for you know 
what mother said when she told us good-by.” 

“ What was it, Lucy?” said Mamie. “ Did she say 
for Will not to tease the baby?” 

Then we all laughed. Lucy was confused, and 
turned pale, white, red in the face, for the passen- 
gers laughed too. 

“Oh, no, Mamie; you know that she never said that, 


WE FIVE. 


13 


but she did say, ‘Be good children, and obey Uncle 
Jack,’ and you know that he would not approve of 
this if he was here,” said little sister. 

All were now interested in Lucy and sorry that 
they had laughed at her, and several had started to 
speak to her and tell her to stand always for the 
right; but the whistle blew, apprising us that Ledg- 
erwood was close at hand. We began grabbing our 
baggage and making ready to get off when the train 
should slacken its speed and stop. 

“Has an accident happened?” asked Tom of the 
nearest trainman. 

“Hush, Tom!” said Mamie. “You know accidents 
do not happen every time a train stops.” 

“Yes, my little man, a little girl’s foot was crushed 
off,” said the man in answer to Tom’s inquiry. 

“Oh, how sorry I am! ” said Lucy and Ethel. “Let 
us go and help them if we can.” 

“No use,” said a gruff voice; “you had better keep 
out of the way.” 

It was near Ledgerwood, and after seeing the lit- 
tle sufferer — who was not hurt so seriously after 
all, but only had her foot considerably bruised — we 
walked on to the station; and there was Uncle Jack, 
ready with his two-horse chaise to take us with him. 

“My children, I am very glad to see you. How 
you have grown. Will!” said the old man, hugging 
each of us. 

I swelled up like a toad at the words, for I was his 
favorite, and he seemed not to notice the others as 
much as he did me. 


CHAPTER 11. 

Our Arrival at Uncle Jack’s. 

We got in the chaise behind two milk-white horses, 
and away we went. It did not take ns long to get 
to Uncle Jack’s. 

Oh, how glad they were to see us! Everyone on 
the place had to kiss ns, even the old black servant 
and the great spaniel dog — the latter preferable. 

‘‘How you have grown!” “You are just like your 
angel mother.” “You look so sweet, I cannot help 
biting you; there!” All these remarks were made by 
Aunt Lydia, Uncle Jack’s wife. “Come in, children. 
Are you not cold? Have a chair. Ah! come up to 
the fire, Tom; you look cold. Let me help you get 
your cloaks off, girls. Now, have a seat.” 

Well, after such a hearty welcome from Aunt Lyd- 
ia we sat down near the fire, while Aunt Lydia shut 
the door and Uncle Jack built a larger fire. 

“Where did you get him?” said Tom, whose keen, 
blue eyes had spied a young fox squirrel in a cage 
near us. “Did you catch him. Uncle Jack? He is 
just like my pet Charlie at home. Charlie! Is he 
not a fine fellow, Ethel?” 

“Yes, indeed,” came the soft reply; “such sharp 
eyes; and does he not look cunningly?” 

“Uncle Jack caught him some time ago,” said Aunt 
Lydia after getting a word wedged in ahead of Tom’s 
busy tongue; but hers had not been stopped long. 
“He is awful mean, and I am going to turn him 


OUR ARRIVAL AT UNCLE JACK’S. 


15 


loose some day. I told J ack to let him go yesterday, 
but he would not.” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Uncle Jack. “I couldn’t 
stand to see the poor fellow freeze to death. Could 
you, Tom?” 

“No, I would keep him. He will make a jolly pet. 
What’s his name?” 

“We haven’t given him a name yet. What do you 
say would be a good name?” 

“ O, Uncle Jack, let’s all give a name and put them 
on a slip of paper and draw, and the last one will be 
his name,” said Lucy. 

“Agreed,” said I. 

“All right,” said Tom. 

The papers were fixed and the drawing commenced. 
“ Snow ” was the first name; “ Cute ” was the second; 
“ Funny” was the third; “Will” was the fourth; and 
“Spot” was the fifth. The squirrel’s name was 
“ Spot ” from then on. 

“Who named him?” said Aunt Lydia. 

“I did,” answered Ethel. 

“Who gave the rest of the names?” asked Uncle 
Jack. 

“I gave the first,” said I; “I gave the second,” 
said Lucy; “I gave the third,” said Tom; and we all 
knew that Mamie gave the fourth. 

About this time old Aunt Hannah, the colored 
cook, came in, aiid said, Supper is weady'' 

We repaired to the spacious kitchen and partook 
of a “square” meal of everything good, for Uncle 
Jack was rather an epicure. 

After supper we retired to the neat parlor, where 
we talked and laughed until bedtime. Uncle Jack 


16 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


got out the family Bible and had prayers, and sang a 
few good, old, soul-inspiring hymns. He also taught 
us our Sunday-school lesson, for it was Saturday 
night. We then went to bed. I slept with Tom. I 
mean I tried to sleep, but could not, for his busy 
tongue, until a very late hour. 


CHAPTER 111, 

Fikst Sunday at Ledgerwood. 

When I awoke the next morning I found the king 
of the heavens smiling sweetly at me from out the 
unshadowed window. I arose and hurriedly dressed 
and washed, then went to the parlor, where I found 
the rest of the household. We went to breakfast, 
after which Uncle Jack told us to prepare for Sun- 
day school and church. 

X\l were finally made ready, and away we went one 
mile to the Belmont Methodist Church. Many were 
the curious eyes that gazed upon us. The assembly 
sang that sweet hymn, Nearer, my God, to thee,” 
and prayer was offered by the Eev. Dr. Bone. 

Uncle Jack was our teacher. We all had good les- 
sons, on which we were much complimented. 

After Sunday school we were invited to go to the 
spring by several young men and ladies of Ledger- 
wood to whom we were introduced. Mamie and two 
more scholars and I went to the spring; one of them 
was James Burch, the banker’s son, and the other 
was Henrietta, the fair daughter of farmer Seaguards. 
I went with Miss Henrietta, and the other boy with 
Mamie. We had barely gotten there when we were 
joined by Tom, Lucy, Ethel, Lizzie Campbell, the 
daughter of Merchant Campbell, and Elias and Trum- 
bull Bone, the two sons of Dr. Bone, pastor of the 
Belmont Church. 

2 


18 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


We had a delightful time at the spring, and I must 
confess that I was completely captivated by that little 
winsome fairy, Henrietta. I saw that it was a match 
at first sight. 

The last bell told us that it was church-time; so 
we went in and took a front pew. The choir sang a 
familiar hymn, and we joined in the chorus. I never 
heard such rapturous music. Prayer was made by 
one of the laymen; then Dr. Bone arose and took his 
text, which was, “ Behold, what manner of love the 
Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be 
called the sons of God.” As the sermon was printed 
in the Monday’s daily paper, I will give it in full. 
Dr. Bone said: 

“ My sermon to-day will be a dish of P’s. Hear 
ye the text again: ‘Behold, what manner of love the 
Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be 
called the sons of God.’ 

“That God loves us is evident, not only from the 
many declarations of his love in the Bible, but by 
every token. But the beloved apostle John calls our 
attention to the manner of his love. And when we 
think of him as the very embodiment of love, be- 
stowing his love upon us, poor, sinful mortals, we 
are struck dumb with wonder and astonishment that 
he should love us at all; but when we come to con- 
template the quality of his love and the manner in 
which he has loved this old world, we are lost in won- 
der and amazement. 

“ We desire to-day to speak of the manner of God’s 
love under several heads, all of them beginning with 
the letter P. This will probably attract the attention 


FIRST SUNDAY AT LEDGERWOOD. 


19 


of the young folks, and we can get them to think of 
God’s love and maybe they will love him. 

^‘First. The first P that we will call your attention 
to, in speaking of the manner of God’s love, is that 
it is a Peculiar love — there is nothing like it, nothing 
to compare with it. It stands out as the great won- 
der of the universe. 

“It is natural for us to love our friends, but it 
is natural for God to love his enemies, and well 
enough to die for them. God’s love is peculiar to 
himself. There is no being in all the universe that 
can love dike he does. There is no language in 
the tongue of man or angel that can describe it. 
Even the Bible, which is but an expression of his 
love, fails to fully convey it to our finite minds. The 
great apostle Paul speaks of its breadth, length, and 
height, but comes to a halt there, and says it passeth 
knowledge. 

“Jesus himself, in attempting to describe God’s 
love, says that ‘ God so loved the world that he gave 
his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on 
him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ 

“We have our likes and our dislikes, but God is 
love; and all that keep him keep from loving any- 
thing else. 

‘^Second, But God’s love bestowed upon us is a 
Perfect love. As God is perfect, so is his love perfect. 

“ The only thing that will perfectly fill the aching 
void that is in each human breast is the perfect love 
of God. The only thing that will make us perfectly 
happy is God’s love. ‘ Perfect love casts out all fear.’ 
It calms all our fears, and allays all our grief, and 
soothes all our pain. 


20 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


“ Yes, our holy religion, which is simply the love 
of God shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost 
— it is the only thing that will make us perfectly 
happy here in this world of sorrow, and it will make 
us eternally happy. I like to think of God as a per- 
fect being, his love as a perfect love. He fully for- 
gives us. He thoroughly washes us. He abundantly 
pardons. The blood of Christ cleanses us from all 
unrighteousness. Yes, it is perfect salvation. 

‘‘ Christ, a perfect Saviour, made a perfect satisfac- 
tion and oblation of himself for the sins of the whole 
world. A perfect Bible! A perfect heaven! Per- 
fect love, unending, unceasing! Thank God for full 
and free salvation! While I am a poor, imperfect, 
sinful human being, Christ in due time died for the 
ungodly, and I am rescued from under the curse of a 
violated law, and perfectly redeemed and washed 
and sanctified by faith in the blood of Christ, fully 
and freely and perfectly pardoned. And not only 
this is so, but it is my privilege to go on to perfec- 
tion, to be perfect even as my Father in heaven is 
perfect; that is, I can come to a full development of 
the grace of God, and fill my sphere in life. 

“ Third, The next P that I will consider is God’s 
Personal love. It is natural for us, away down here 
in this far-off world of sin, to think of God as being 
away off somewhere in unknown space; but not so. 
St. Paul says, ‘He is not far from everyone of us,’ 
and exhorts us to feel after him if haply we may find 
him. I believe that through the incarnation of Jesus 
Christ there is a reunion of God and man, and by 
faith in him we are all brought into personal contact 
with him. 


FIRST SUNDAY AT LEDGERWOOD. 


21 


“ God is a Spirit, and seeketh such to worship him 
as do worship him in spirit and in truth. It is true 
that it is in a spiritual sense, but it is just as real as 
my love for my own child. Spiritual things are 
spiritually discerned, and therefore inexplicable. 
But the. Holy Ghost, or Spirit, is a person, and 
everywhere present, and as a comforter abides with 
us forever. He comes in to us and sups with us and 
we with him. The Spirit itself beareth witness with 
our spirits that we are the children of God. Yes, 
God bestows his love in a personal manner. We 
have sweet communion with him and fellowship; 
yea, he takes us to his great heart of love and em- 
braces us. 

“Of course, those who do not have this personal 
experience do not know anything about it. It is 
easy for anyone to deny anything that he does not 
comprehend, but I challenge the world to come and 
try it. Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Talk 
about pardoning taking place in the mind of God! 
Why, it has been in his great mind always to par- 
don those who believe on his Son, but he communi- 
cates the fact to us by the person of the Holy Ghost. 

^^FourtK The next P is that God’s is a Powerful 
love. And oh, what a power it has been! Like the 
burning rays of the sun, it has penetrated this old, 
dark, heathen world with such power and force that 
it has revolutionized nations and empires and king- 
doms, and has held in check the power of darkness 
for all these ages, and will finally overcome every 
foe, and sweep over this entire world and on and on 
till it sweeps through eternity itself. The love of 
Christ constraineth us. It acts as a constraining 


22 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


and retaining force. It is God’s weapon that he 
proposes to conquer his foes with, and he imparts it 
to us to make us strong and fearless. It is the only 
instrument whereby we can overcome our enemies 
and bring them to our feet. Yes, there is a power 
and influence in this love that astounds this old 
world. Whenever the Church gets full of it, then 
sin begins to give way. When the gospel has it in 
it, sinners are cut to the heart. Love never faileth. 
We actually love our fellow-beings into anything. 
By loving our enemies we heap coals of Are on their 
heads. If we have this love we are full of power 
and strength, but if we have it not we are nothing, 
we are as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals; and 
how empty are our forms without it! Love hopeth 
all things, beareth all things, endureth all things. 
Love abideth forever. Faith ends in sight, hope 
ends in fruition, but love abideth forever. Oh, how 
wonderful! So high, that it reaches to the highest 
heaven; so deep as to reach to the very gates of 
Hades; as broad as the realm of God, and as ever- 
lasting and unending as eternity. The power that 
moves heaven to earth and shuts out hell and puts a 
limit to the devil; the power that makes us happy 
in death and carries us body and soul to heaven; the 
power that smothers hell and keeps it from bursting 
forth in flery heat: oh, it is omnipotent! Glory to 
God, it is the power that enables us to subdue our 
passions and keep them in due bounds, and enables 
us to ward off the giant Satan. It draws me to 
Christ and to heaven, and lifts me up from this 
world. I know there is a power in it, for I have the 
victory. 


FIRST SUNDAY AT LEDGERWOOD. 


23 


‘‘Fifth. The last P in the dish that I will call your 
attention to to-day is the Paternal love of God; and 
this is the sum and substance of the rest. 

“ God loves us in such a peculiar, perfect, personal, 
poiverfil manner as to make us his children. We 
are begotten of his love, and born of God, born of 
love, born from above, made heirs of God and joint- 
heirs with our Lord Jesus Christ. I am glad that 
God thus so graciously reveals himself to us. Our 
Father! The Father of our spirits. Why, my rela- 
tion to him is like my relation to my earthly parents, 
and I approach him with the same confidence that a 
little child does its earthly parents, and tell him all 
my troubles and ask him for his love and for his 
Holy Spirit with the same assurance that he will be- 
stow it as when my own child asks bread knowing 
I will give it. Thank God for his Fatherhood! 
Heaven is my eternal home, and God is my everlast- 
ing Father, and Jesus Christ is my elder brother; 
and I, with the good of all ages, am his child — I am 
his child by adoption, and through the resurrection 
of this body I will be restored fully to my Father’s 
house. 

“All heaven is getting ready for me and you. 
Jesus, my elder brother, is preparing a place for 
me, and after awhile I will go shouting home to my 
mansion above. 

I am so glad that our Father in heaven 
Tells of his love in the book he has given. 

Wonderful things in the Bible I see. 

This is the dearest, ‘Jesus loves me.’ 

“Oh, for this love let earth and heaven join in a 
song of thanksgiving with me. Oh, what love! 


24 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


Greater love hath no man than this. God bestows 
it; that is, he gives it to ns as a rich legacy, without 
money and without price, unmerited on our part. 
Oh, what can I give in return for such love? I 
must love him with all my soul, heart, and strength. 
Love is the fulfilling of the law. By the grace of 
God we are established to love him and fulfill his 
law. God help us to love him in such a manner as 
to be made his sons, and thereby be made Godlike, 
and then we can love everything that God loves. 

‘‘O, brethren, what a thought! Immortalized, and 
glorified, and beautified! The thought brings a holy 
inspiration, and in the language of the poet, 

‘ Bright scenes of glory strike my sense, 

And all my passions capture; 

Eternal beauties around me shine. 

Infusing warmest rapture. 

I dive in pleasures deep and full, 

In swelling waves of glory ; 

I feel my Saviour in my soul, 

And groan to tell the story.’ 

‘‘The text will be found in First John, third chap- 
ter, first verse. Amen.” 

I sat entranced as I listened to this discourse from 
the learned Dr. Bone. He was the most genial man 
I ever saw, with a bright smile for all and a word of 
kindness for any in trouble. I learned to love him 
at first acquaintance, and I still love him. He was a 
tall, handsome man, with deep-blue eyes, auburn 
hair, and a voice of heavenly melody. 

The sermon was plain old Methodist doctrine from 
the beginning to the end. Dr. Bone knew how to 
handle the subject and point the way of escape to 


FIRST SUNDAY AT LEDGERWOOD. 


25 


danger-fraught men. It was a grand sermon, and I 
still remember the truths spoken by that holy man, 
who was the means of saving at least one soul that 
day. I saw the way of my life, how I was prone to 
wander and do wrong. I said to myself: ‘‘This day 
will I quit evil forever.” 

The five friends went home with us for dinner; 
and such fun as we had I never will forget. After 
dinner we went to the soldiers’ cemetery; and there, 
among the noble dead, I spoke the first words of 
love ever uttered by my lips — to the ear of Henrietta. 
It was, I say, a match at first sight, as you will see 
later. 

We finally got home; and Uncle Jack and Aunt 
Lydia had a pleasant repast, which we hugely en- 
joyed. Then the boys and girls had to go to their 
homes. So this was how we spent the first Sunday 
at Ledgerwood. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Fikst Stoky. 

The next day was a dreary, drizzly one. We chil- 
dren had to stay indoors all day. Lucy proposed 
that each of us write a short story and let Uncle 
Jack read it. We all agreed, and for the next two 
days we were busy. Then Uncle Jack read the fol- 
lowing story: 

WANTED -A GIRL. 

“ Wanted — a good-looking girl, who can cook, and who un- 
derstands housekeeping. Apply at once. Address John I., 4 
Woodland St. 

‘‘The above advertisement appeared in the Morn- 
ing Sentinel; and when this story commences the 
gentleman, John I., sat by a huge fire in his grate 
soliloquizing thus as he read his own lines in the 
‘want’ column: 

“‘Humph! I wonder if anyone will answer. It 
is nearly ten, and no one yet. Money spent for noth- 
ing. They will be fooled if they do come. None 
will think I want to marry. I ought to have put it 
in a matrimonial paper. No, I don’t want to be de- 
ceived that way. Let them come, then I will get my 
ideal — a good, stout, gentle-natured woman. Ah, 
there’s some one at the door, maybe an applicant. 
Come in, do,’ said he rather abruptly. 

“‘Good-morning, sir. Mr. I., I believe? My name 
is Lelia Wein.’ 

“‘Good-morning, Miss Wein; have a chair. My 


THE FIKST STORY. 


27 


name is I. ; yes. You are an applicant for the posi- 
tion I offered, if I am not mistaken?’ 

‘‘^Yes, thank you, that is my business with you,’ 
said she. 

‘‘‘Well, I must ask you some questions before I 
hire you. Are you single?’ 

“‘Yes,’ said she doggedly. 

“‘In good health?’ continued he. 

“‘I enjoy good health.’ 

“‘I can well guess your age, but may I ask you?’ 

“‘Yes, sir; I am only nineteen.’ 

“‘Are your parents alive, both of them? Are you a 
good worker? Do you inherit a fortune? Tell me 
your life.’ 

“‘Well,’ said she, ‘both of my parents are alive, 
but are in feeble health; that is why I seek employ- 
ment. I am counted as a very good worker. I have 
a very good education, a practical one. My name is 
mentioned in my rich uncle’s will and testament, and 
he is where we know not; and as to the rest of my 
surroundings and circumstances, they would not in- 
terest but tire you.’ 

“‘You are charming; I am pleased with yon, but I 
must try you for a w^eek before I can give you a 
definite answer. I will ask. What are your am- 
bitions? Ah, excuse me for not asking questions 
right. I mean, how do you love, or could you love 
any man well enough to marry him if he made love 
at first sight? But do not take me for a lover yet, 
although I cannot help admiring you. Talk; I can- 
not.’ 

“She slightly blushed at his brusque remark; or 
we may say he was sincere; but she managed to call 


28 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACN. 


forth enough courage to say: ‘I had rather not ex- 
press an opinion on the matrimonial subject. I could 
marry if the one proposing was like you; but pray, 
sir, what has that to do with the position?’ 

“ ‘Ah, practically nothing; yet it may mean much. 
If you can attend to a room, I will call a servant and 
he will show you to room No. 5, upstairs; and don’t 
leave it only at meal times, and to take a morning 
and evening ride or walk. Do you accept this prop- 
osition ? ’ 

“‘Certainly,’ said she. 

“John called a servant and gave him the orders, 
and she left for her room. John watched the pretty 
retreating figure of the blonde lass with the feelings 
of a man who had suddenly fallen into that unknown 
state (to bachelors) of love. 

“Delia found her room to be a nicely furnished 
one. She thought something like this: ‘What a kind 
man! He would make a good husband; but why do 
I let such thoughts enter my mind? He is very 
strict, but I don’t see what I have to do; find out, I 
guess. I will try to please him. I hope I shall 
draw a good salary; he never said anything about it. 
Here is a palette, brushes, and easel: I will paint a 
fancy sketch, for I can, and I don’t want to be idle.’ 

“So she commenced the task. The dinner bell 
stopped it before it was completed, and she retired 
to the dining room, where she met the charming 
Miss Osias Seay (an applicant too, but she thought 
her a relative). John I. had had a similar interview 
with her, and also had given her a week’s trial. He 
did not like her appearance or manners as well as he 
did Delia’s. When he asked Osias the question con- 


THE FIKST STOKY. 


29 


cerning love, she said: ‘Oh, this is so sudden! Wait 
for my answer.’ Of course John was stunned, but 
he could not drive her off. 

“Dinner was over, and Delia went to her room to 
finish her sketch. Osias went to her room, but she 
whiled away the evening in reading a book. 

“That evening three more applicants made their 
appearance. The first was Jessie Lynn, a sullen, 
hot-tempered girl, with sandy hair, blue (egg-blue) 
eyes, and a harsh voice; and she could easily be 
summed up as a she-wolf. The next girl was Sophia 
Seirs, a high-minded, well-bred, too-modest girl, who 
would sit for hours at a time dumb as an oyster; and 
she was a terrible meddler and gossiper. The third 
girl was Nina Lewis, a high-flyer, who had lost her 
position as a stage dancer for negligence of duty. 
She wanted to settle down to quiet life. 

“John I. gave each a week’s trial, and was favora- 
bly impressed with Delia. At an early hour in the 
evening he invited her to take a drive with him. 
She started to refuse, but he begged so earnestly 
that she consented. A pleasant evening was spent 
this way. 

“John admired Delia; Delia acknowledged down in 
the depths of her heart that she liked John L; both 
could see that there was something that drew them 
together somehow. John slept better that night, and 
dreamed more new, sweet, soul-composing dreams 
than he ever did. Delia, too, had a sound sleep, and 
dreamed only of the future. Morning came, and she 
still had nothing to do. John took another drive 
with her that morning, and another that evening. 
He was charmed; he found himself deeply in love. 


30 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


and declared that she, and she only, would bless his 
home, and in a short time too; but it almost choked 
him to say anything on the subject. Lelia saw this, 
but with her keen instinct she let him woo for himself. 

“ The days passed. John showed his partiality to 
Lelia, and they took the rides regularly morning and 
evening. The week ended. John told Osias she 
could leave, and she left. She was too fast for such 
a man as John I. She tried to court him, and was 
jealous of Lelia, who had the favor of John. Jessie 
Lynn shared a fate similar to that of Osias; she 
would not suit in any respect; she left. Sophia Seirs 
and Nina Lewis also left. Only Lelia remained. 
She was the housekeeper for John I. She was 
charming. John took her for a ride, and managed 
to say his little premeditated speech of love. She 
shied the question; but when pressed, she mur- 
mured, ‘Yes.’ 

“John was happy, but he felt sad that he had to 
discharge the four girls that morning; and he 
showed his appreciation of having won so fair a 
jewel, pressed his lips to the face of that jewel, and 
twining his arms around her waist drew her to his 
joy-beating heart. 

“ When they returned, a letter awaited Lelia. It 
bore a foreign postmark. She eagerly tore it open 
and read: 

^ Italy, , 18 — . 

‘Miss Lelia Wein: Your uncle is dead, and we find that you 
are his sole heir. You have a fortune in your hands of 
seventy-five thousand dollars. It is in money; no estate. 
Write and give information in regard to money. We join in 
wishing luck to you. Wilcox & Brown, 

Attorneys for David Wein, deceased.’ 


THE FIRST STORY. 


31 


‘‘A thrill of joy shot through her heart. She 
rushed to tell John. John said: ‘You will not marry 
me now, will you? You are three times richer 
than I.^ 

“‘Say nothing of that, dear John. I can never re- 
pay you; my promise is still good.’ 

“‘We shall marry to-morrow; cicumstances will 
not permit of anything else. Draw your chair 
closer,’ said John. 

“She drew closer; and now let us leave them 
happy, with John holding her small hand in his and 
her beautiful head lying on his shoulder. 

“ So John I. advertised for a wife and he got one, 
a good one.” 

“You did well, Lucy,” said Uncle Jack. “That 
teaches you girls a lesson: always so live that no 
fault will be found with you.” 


CHAPTER V. 

Tom’s Stoey: The Faik Califoenian. 

Uncle Jack readied over on the table and got the 
next story. “Hello, Tom, here is one from yon! 
You children are the smartest young folks in the 
land. We will see if you beat Lucy. I am going to 
give a dollar for the best one. 

^^THE FAIR CALIFORNIAN. 

“In the spring of ’49 I landed in that ‘sunny 
country’ where the chilling winds of winter never 
come. Yes, I landed without a cent, or much sense, 
either; but I never felt disappointed, for I soon 
found labor with a miner, near Sacramento. 

“We had a small mine, and were kept busy trying 
to keep soul and body together; for the mine was 
poor. 

“ The miner was a good, jovial fellow named Frank 
Mason, who had plenty of sense and had seen better 
days. He had lived in an eastern state, and had 
married a pretty woman. When the gold fever 
struck him, he ‘sold out’ and ‘struck out’ for the 
‘wild west,’ leaving friends and relatives, who said 
he ought not to go. 

“He had one daughter named Maude, a bright- 
eyed lass of sixteen summers. She was my ideal — 
a pretty little figure, a mystic face, with a sweet 
mouth wreathed in smiles and showing two rows of 


tom’s story: the fair Californian. 


33 


snow-white teeth. It was a fad with her to hold that 
pretty mouth half parted, so that when she spoke in 
her sweet, musical voice you could see the very sun- 
shine of her soul. A proud head, well thrown back, 
added a luster to her charms. That head, which 
now so lowly lies, makes me deathly sick when I 
recall these sad yet pleasant memories. That head 
was crowned with the mad-colored hair, red, which 
flowed in a sparkling mass to the length of a yard 
behind. It was not the ugly red hair that looks 
granulated, sickly to one’s taste — not that violent 
temper producing hair, but a red that verged to an 
auburn. She had her own' way of fixing it, and as it 
hung flowing in a wavy mass behind, slightly 
brushed in front — a fit image for an artist’s model — 
you could distinctly hear my heart beating. This 
was the way I first saw her. 

“Her father and I worked at our claim (for we 
had gone into partnership) to the end of August, 
when things became desperate; food was scarce, and 
clothing not much better; sickness came, and my 
partner lay with a burning fever for many weeks. 
We had done without a doctor as long as we could, 
and at last, when the sickness seemed critical, I was 
sent twenty miles after a physician. 

“ It was the last of August, very sultry. I rode a 
little mustang. On and on I went. I grew faint 
and hungry, and at tv^elve o’clock I stopped beside a 
spring to rest, eat what little dinner I had — and 
there I went to sleep. I slept I know not how long; 
when I awoke I heard a slight noise to my right; I 
sat upright and looked in the direction the noise 
came from, when ‘w-h-i-z!’ went something near 


84 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


my head: it was an arrow, but where did it come 
from? I hallooed very loudly; my horse started and 
madly plunged by me, going down the vale at a 
furious speed and surmounting the hillside — then 
all was quiet for several seconds. I grew more calm, 
but saw no way of escape; I might run into my ene- 
mies instead of escaping. A ‘ bang ! ’ a ‘ w-h-i-z ! ’ a 
bullet, an arrow by my side, and then I saw in the 
grass the forms of five Indians. I was in for it. 
What could I do? Give ux3? No, not I. Shoot my 
revolver? Yes. Well, I gave them five shots in 
rapid succession, and laid two bloody warriors low 
in death — when I found that my ammunition was out; 
I had it in a satchel on my horse, but he was gone. 
I must fiy for my life. The Indians made a rush 
after me, on my first round, and were fast over- 
taking me. I ran for about two hundred yards, 
when I suddenly stopped — right on the brink of a 
mighty bluff which hung over a whirlpool of water. 
I must jump. What! jump to your death; jump on 
the rocks, perhaps; jump from an unknown height; 
jump into a seething caldron of boiling water (for 
the water was hot, I found out later); jump when 
you know it is certain death? Yes, I had better 
jump; I have some hope, some chance in jumping, 
none with the Indian’s bullet or arrow. Yes, I must 
jump; retreat is impossible. I had rather die by 
that means than by the Indians’ cruel torture, for 
they evidently wished to catch me alive. Yes, I 
will jump. Can I clear those ragged rocks? I will 
try. I rush backward for a few feet and prepare for 
my jump, the jump for life or death. I rush on, and 
am about to jump; it is with difficulty that I stop 


tom’s stoby: the fair Californian. 


35 


myself, when I see a small opening in the earth. 
Into it I rush, just in time, for the Indians thought 
I had jumped, and they had fired a volley. 

‘‘ It was dark. I struck a match, and found I was 
on the brink of a small bluff, four or five feet high. 
I jumped off, and landed safe on terra Jirma. I 
looked around and saw a small channel leaving my 
abode: into it I went — on, on, down, down, till at last 
I beheld a glimmering light; it was the blessed day- 
light. I plunged on, stumbling over fallen rocks, 
debris of every description, rubbish, trees, water, in 
water, on rocks, when at last I fell into — darkness 
again — into a hole. I struck a match and lit a fire, 
but I could not get out. 

‘‘ ‘ Well, I can die here,’ I thought; ‘but it would 
have been better to have let the Indians kill me, or 
to have jumped off the bluff.’ 

“ My fire flashed up, and I saw my way out of the 
hole that I had fallen into. I scrambled up its 
edge, and was nearing the top when my ‘holds’ 
came loose and I fell back. A shower of rocks pre- 
ceded my fall, and I saw a shining mass at my feet. 
What was it? I held a large lump near the fire and 
examined it, and then I shouted for joy — it was the 
yellow metal, gold! Yes, I had found an El Dorado. 
I picked up as much of the ore as I could carry 
and again climbed the walls of my prison. After a 
long, tired time of it I reached the top, not repenting 
of my fall into the hole, and then proceeded to reach 
daylight, which I did in less than an hour. 

“ I found my satchel lying near the lake, and far- 
ther on lay my dead mustang, half in water, half 
out — my fate if I had jumped. My pony had started 


36 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


down the vale, but turned back and fell off the bluff 
as if he had been shot — poor beast ! 

“ I thought I would examine the place so I would 
know it. I looked up and saw my three enemies 
peeping down the bluff; they thought I had hid. I 
loaded my revolver, for I had found my satchel, and 
then, carefully taking aim, fired. A wild plunge and 
a dull thud — three men lay near me. What! Kill 
three at one shot? Why, no; I shot one, and he, 
reeling forward, caught the other two, and all fell at 
my feet — two dead, one by bullet, one by fall, and 
one alive. Must I kill him, or let him kill me? No, 
I would spare his life; and I did. I made him guide 
me to the place to which I wished to go, and when I 
reached it I put him in safe keeping. 

“ The doctor took me in his buggy, and we reached 
home late at night. 

“ Mr. Mason was better, and, after having medical 
aid, recovered in about two weeks. 

“ I sold my nuggets and saved the family from 
starvation. 

‘‘ Maude and I soon began to feel a little more at- 
traction for each other, and long summer hours were 
happily spent together without the knowledge of her 
parents. We went on with our courtship, and after 
a long struggle (on my part) we pledged to unite our 
hearts and lives. 

‘‘ I was happy, but when I asked her father for 
her hand there was a denial. He never thought of 
such a thing; he never noticed anything more than 
friendship. 

‘‘ ‘ No, no, you cannot have my darling now,’ he 
said. 


tom's story: the fair Californian. 37 

“I argued, I pleaded, I begged, but in vain; he 
put me off. 

‘All will come right,’ I thought; so I waited. 

“ One day I took my friend to my mine — the place 
where I escaped death, killed my enemies, and found 
my gold. He was in ecstasy when he saw it, and I 
made him my partner. Ought I to have done this? 
Yes, I think so; for he had done the same to me, 
and that would win him. 

“ We worked the mine for some time, and had good 
success; then we sold it to an English syndicate for 
a round million. 

“Well, one day I told Mr. Mason that Maude and 
I would marry anyhow — it made no difference wheth- 
er he said no or yes. 

“‘You can have her, Mr. Will Hannon — just for 
friendship’s sake, if nothing else. She was so young 
when you asked me for her the other time that I 
could not but refuse.’ 

“ He talked as if she had gotten older in a few 
months. 

“ ‘And you had nothing, you know,’ said he. 

“ But I did have something, just the same. 

“ ‘And I wanted my little dove to marry well off,’ 
he continued; ‘ and — yes, you can have her, with my 
blessings,’ said my old friend. 

“ The wedding came off, and we were happy. We 
(with my father-in-law and family) came here to 
Tennessee. 

“ My cousin. Earnest Hannon, soon got jealous of 
me, and fell in love with my pretty wife. He plead- 
ed with her to leave me, but she was true. I never 
dreamed of this. 


38 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


“ Ten years passed, and one winter night as wife 
and I and little Jessie Maude sat by the fire, there 
came a ‘ bang,’ a report, a bullet, and my wife lay mor- 
tally wounded! She told me all. WelJ, the fiend was 
mobbed, but I never recovered my full senses. 

“It makes me mad to tell this; makes me insane 
to think of it, and deathly sick to recall the memory 
of my dear dead wife. My hair is white, you see, 
yet I am young — all because that villain robbed me 
of my best joy. 

“ Little Jessie Maude made a beautiful woman, 
just like her mother, and now she is my joy. I must 
close, as I dip my pen in my blood when telling 
this.” 

“Good, good, good! hurrah for you!” was the 
plaudit that greeted this story, and then came a 
mighty clapping of hands. 

“ That is good,” said Uncle Jack; “ it teaches such 
a good lesson: never despair, never give up. There 
is a way out of trouble, and if you take the right 
way you will get gold and success, as the hero of 
that story did.” 


CHAPTER VL 

The Broken Lily — Ethel’s Story. 

The next story was from the pen of little Ethel, our 
most sincere Christian and prohibitionist. Uncle 
Jack read it, and of course it pleased him, as he was 
a good Christian. 

^^THE BROKEN LILY, 

‘‘ Did you ever notice that pure, queenly plant as 
it rears its snow-white head above its green bosom, 
or gently nods a cooing welcome to the fascinating 
zephyr’s breath or strengthening sun; or, again, on 
a pretty girl’s dress front, adding not beauty to 
beauty, but luster to charms? Aye, I repeat, did 
you ever see that flower, the fit emblem of purity, 
innocence, and beauty, on or in a slender vase, and 
a fair, seemingly mystical figure looking down in its 
face and giving her own light to the lily ? 

“A fair picture, a vivid imagination, not a passing, 
chimerical, but a realistic, image. 

“ The first time the poet met the fairy queen. Miss 
Beatrix Beauford — well, he saw not only the lily 
she wore, but the lily-complexioned face of its owner. 
That lily and its owner furnished the bard many a 
subject for prose and poetry. The poet — you shall 
know him — Mr. Roderick Depount, was a very gen- 
ial fellow, with a peculiar manner and haughty speech, 
seemingly, yet not so when one fully knew him. 

Fair lily, droop not your head, 

Or wither with the sun ; 

Raise your head, live, he not dead ; 

Let your mission be done, 


40 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


the poet would cry; and she, the owner — oh, she 
would be rather encouraging. And the poet sang on 
his direful dirges and mournful odes interspersed 
with a glad song, a joyful poem, or a humorous 
critique. 

“ Well, the lily that she wore the first time he met 
her was pleaded for, but in vain. A grasp, a clutch, 
and a broken stem the lily had — a tortured face the 
owner and the lily had; a hard heart the rhymer had. 

‘‘ The bard pursued his case, and fanned the 
spark that had been formed in his heart; it would 
brighten up, then flicker, go nearly out, but not 
quite — never rising to a flame, never going to ashes. 

She was only visiting in the town of Limerick, 
or I believe was spending the summer there, when 
the poet met her and fell a victim to her charms — a 
praying man to her beauty, and a beseeching singer 
of emotional songs or impassioned verses; and, alas! 
she departed. • 

‘‘ She left a vivid impression upon his mind, heart, 
and soul: his songs contained her praise, his poems 
pictured even herself, and after she was gone you 
could have found him in a small ofiice working at 
his manuscripts untiringly. And she loved him 
more dearly than he loved her; but never did she 
‘ let on ’ till she found that his love was pure, sincere, 
and devotedly hers. 

“The crowning literary work of his youth had 
been finished, offered for publication, and rejected. 
He grew despondent, and sought relief in travel and 
new scenery, but these failed; then he resorted to 
strong drink, and became a mental wreck. He was in 
a distant country, without friends or money, or any- 


THE BROKEN LILY— ETHEL’s STORY. 41 

thing — in the hands of strangers. In his despera- 
tion he resolved to end his troubles by suicide; but 
the manner of his self-destruction caused him to hes- 
itate. Would shooting do? No; he thought too 
much of his brains to have them bespatter the 
ground. Would a razor do? would it end life quick- 
ly, instantly? ‘No,’ thought he, ‘I could not bear 
to hear my flesh grate or to feel the warm blood 
drop on me— to see such a sight and hear such a 
noise. No, not a razor.’ Hanging — would hanging 
do? Let us see; would a rope suffocate or strangle 
or choke? ‘ Yes; by the laws of Heaven I shall not 
die that way — my eyes protruding from their sock- 
ets, my face distorted and disfigured; no, I cannot 
have it that way. If I am ugly here in life, I shall 
be no more of an ugly corpse than I was a man. 
No! I shall drown; that is the most pleasant mode 
of death I know of — “ happy dreams under peaceful 
waters” [his own quotation]. Happy — ah! here I 
go; good-by!’ These were some of the unhappy 
man’s thoughts. 

“‘Splash’ went the water; a man rises, sinks 
— once, twice — then a stout pull, a steady swim, 
and a brave dog, faithful to all, brought the sad, un- 
conscious would-be victim of suicide to the bank; 
and he, good doggie, barked furiously. 

“A lady walked the road, seeking flowers — a 
sweet, pale-faced lady who evidently had a great 
sorrow, a loss of relatives or friends, or a debauched 
lover, for she seemed sad. She kept saying to her- 
self: ‘He is somewhere. Oh that I knew! And he 
drinks. I would reform him.’ Just then she heard 
her pet dog barking. 


42 


A YEAB WITH UNCLE JACK. 


‘ Come here, Carlo. Carlo ! Naughty doggie, 
come here. Let snakes alone! ’ 

“ ‘ Yelp, yelp,’ barked the dog, and the echo said, 
‘Help, help! ’ 

“ ‘ Something is the matter, I fear; I must see. I 
will punish him if he is in trouble. Oh, to have my 
beautiful walk spoiled by a naughty dog ! Come 
here. Carlo.’ 

“ But the dog came not. So, tripping lightly down 
the bank, she saw the man whom she had loved and 
worked for, and would have died for. 

“ ‘ My God ! ’ she cried. ‘ Roderick, what is the 
matter? Help! help! ’ 

“She came to his side; he was still unconscious. 

“ ‘ O, Roderick! say something, one word. I have 
been looking for you, for I thought you were here at 
the hotel, but I didn’t expect to find you at this place. 
And here is some mail for you; it is marked ‘ impor- 
tant,’ and is in my care; a special delivery stamp is on 
it. Say — thank God, you are alive! ’ 

“ He sadly opened his eyes and said, ‘ Is that you ? 
— you?’ and shut them again. 

“ She ran to a house near by and summoned medi- 
cal aid, and he was restored. She handed him his 
mail, but he motioned her to read it to him. She 
complied. The poet’s work, once rejected, had 
been accepted, and an offer of ten thousand dollars 
made for it. He was carried to the house, and she 
answered his letters, and the bargain was made. 

“ The poet grew better from the reception of the 
good news, and the beautiful face of Beatrix had 
come and had been seen. She told him all that had 
occurred with her since their last meeting: how sad 


THE BROKEN LILY — ETHEL’s STORY. 43 

she had been because he did not write nor come; 
how she had heard of his defeated ambition; how he 
had yielded to the demon of strong drink, and how her 
heart was broken. Bat she was true to him, and still 
admired him, and would try to help him save himself. 

‘‘ The poet thought of the fair lily he had snatched 
from her hand the first time they ever met; how 
much she now looked like that delicate flower which 
he had so ruthlessly grasped and crushed, and he the 
cause of her dejection. 

^ Be-Be-Be-Beatrix, come here; come closer — 
still nearer. Let me whisper in your ear. Forgive. 
I see it now: you brought me back name, fame, and 
fortune; you have been writing to the publisher — I 
know you have, yon cannot deny it.’ 

“ She nodded her forgiveness. 

“ ‘ Well, darling, thanks. I will never drink 
another drop from the intoxicating bowl. You 
surely know my wishes and wants now; only say yes. 
We will start for the metropolis to-morrow, if you 
will, and next month sail to Europe.’ 

It is needless to say that they never took the Eu- 
ropean trip as single beings, for the wedding occurred 
very soon, and Beatrix Beauford became Beatrix De- 
pount.” 

There are many broken lilies, children, among 
both married and single women. Never wed a 
drunkard, girls; and, boys, never crush any lilies. 
Ethel did admirably well; she composed a beautiful 
story. The dram curse must be blotted out, and the 
boys and girls of our land should not tolerate it by 
any means,” said Uncle Jack; and we all sanctioned 
his words. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Mamie’s Story: A Forty Years’ Dance. 

“ Grandpa, let me go to the dance,” said Johnnie 
Earls to his grandfather, Tom Cade. 

‘‘Oh no, child; you cannot go. Your mother might 
not approve of it; she sent you here to go to school; 
and besides, you might dance as long as I did once, 
forty years, if I let you go,” said he, with a smile. 

“Well, grandpa, tell me about it; I will not want 
to go if you will. Forty years! Why, grandpa, that 
seems incredible. Tell me about it; I will not go to 
sleep,” said Johnnie, for he was in the habit of going 
to sleep after having begged his grandfather for a 
story, or a history of some of his kinsfolk. 

“ It was forty years ago,” commenced Mr. Cade, 
“ that I went to a dance. I was young, just twenty- 
one years old. These feeble arms of mine were 
young then; my steps were not tottering as they are 
now; my eyes were bright, not impaired by age; I 
was buoyant, full of life, blithe, and a good stepper 
to fine music. 

“ I carried to the dance Tennessee May, an Eng- 
lish girl of rare beauty and superb genius. I had 
been going to see her for three years. We loved 
each other, but felt a delicacy on the subject; and I 
was too bashful to propose, although I made up my 
mind to do so. She was too modest to hint about 
the matter, so we led a silent courtship, full of deep, 
inexpressible feeling. 


MAMIE’S STOEY: A FOETY YEAES’ DANCE. 45 

“ The ballroom was five hundred feet long. Large 
mirrors were fixed on the walls so that they refiected 
a beautiful picture to the dancers; and when one 
would offer to kiss his fair partner, a multitude of 
image- watchers stared mockingly at them. To a 
bashful lover like me this meant a warning, and my 
little lady dear escaped the embarrassing ordeal. 

“The dance commenced; the music gently fioated 
through the spacious, well-lit hall that was divided 
into five rooms, each one hundred feet long. I never 
got to waltz with Miss Tennessee until the night 
had well waned into the morning, for she was con- 
stantly surrounded by a throng begging her for 
the next dance. Finally I found she was not occu- 
pied, asked her hand for the next waltz and was ac- 
cepted. The music began and we waltzed through 
the room several times. 

“The exercise of dancing had warmed her blood, 
and a deep blush was on her cheek; indeed, I f el- 
jealous of my ‘ future intended.’ She tripped light- 
ly, and as we neared the far end of the hall, she said: 
‘ I wish I could waltz with you always, Tom ; you 
shall be my partner from now" on; you are so enter- 
taining.” 

“ ‘ Let us dance for all time to come,’ I said. ‘ Let 
us be off; it is late. You are so handsome that I 
ought to ask you a question: Will you join me in a 
dance that shall last until life is over?’ 

“ She never said, ‘ This is so sudden,’ or, ‘ Do you 
mean it?’ but, ‘I have longed for this time. I take 
your hint. Yes, we understand each other fully, and 
I accept your proposal with thanks.’ 

“I said: ‘When, my darling? Now? God bless 


46 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


you for accepting me! I am not worthy, but God 
knows my heart — I love you more than I do my own 
life. Let us leave now.’ 

We waltzed out of the room into the street. 
Her enchanting voice, mingled with a gay, happy 
laugh, made divinest music; and we joyfully skipped 
on, for the ground was frozen hard, and there was 
nothing to impede our progress to the marriage 
altar. 

“We arrived at the clergyman’s home and made 
him arise. The license was obtained and the cere- 
mony performed. We then retired from the minis- 
ter’s house and went to my bride’s home, where we met 
an irate father who declared war. I was on the de- 
fensive, but that did no good. The old man’s anger 
was at a fever heat. I saw that war could not be 
averted by truce, so we had a few words, and — I 
am no coward — I ran, but not very far; I then re- 
turned. 

“The old man had relented somewhat when he 
comprehended how things stood, but he would not 
let us stay there, and he vowed that we should never 
enter his dwelling again. 

“ We then went to my boarding house, where I 
told the landlady of my marriage and introduced my 
wife to her. 

“ It has been forty years since then; but, my son, 
we have never missed a day that we do not dance. I 
do not mean shake our feet, but I mean that we are 
happy, and never quarrel. That is why I tell you this, 
for I always want you to be happy, gleeful, and never 
quarrel. Are you sleepy now? Are you glad that 1 
did not let you go to the dance?” 


MAMIE’S story: A FORTY YEARS’ DANCE. 47 

‘‘Grandpa, of course I am not sleepy. How could 
I be when you are so interesting and entertaining? 
T am glad I never attended the dance; but is that 
so that you told me? O, grandpa, how stupid I am 
not to know! It was grandma that you danced with. 
You are so clever to tell your truant grandchild such 
a good story of your past life; how can I thank you 
for it?’ said Johnnie. 

“ By being a good boy. Here is a silver dollar 
for your not going to the dance. It is time that you 
were in bed. Kiss your grandmother and be off. 
When you are older you can go to all the dances — 
and marry, if you want to. Go now, for I have to 
write to your mother and tell her what a good boy 
you are, and I know she is proud of her boy. Now 
good-night,” said Johnnie’s grandfather. 

“ This will not miss the dollar far, I guess,” said 
Uncle Jack. “ You can get the lesson out of it your- 
self.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Last Story: My Brother Joe. 

“ I WONDER who will get the dollar,” said Mamie. 
“ We have all told a story but Cousin Will. I guess 
he will get the prize. Indeed, I like this. Do you 
all?” 

“ Of course we do,” said Ethel. 

“ I never enjoyed myself better in writing mine 
and hearing the others read. Read the last. Uncle 
Jack,” said Tom. 

“if F BROTHER JOE. 

“Joe was a handsome boy, six feet high, and nine- 
teen years old when this story opens. He had 
large, brawny arms and a symmetrical body that 
was covered with a corpulent compound of modern 
delicacies; therefore he was considered very sweet 
by the girls when he was young, and now, twenty 
years later, his wife thinks the same. He had an 
extremely large head, well formed, lit with two fiery 
gray eyes that shone admiration of natural beauty 
and disdain of vulgarism. Bright ringlets of wavy 
brown curls decked that head of his, and a mouth 
fitly shaped, studded with two rows of pearl-luster 
enamel, welcomed everyone wdth a smile that was 
sure to win the esteem of all; and a non-aquiline 
nose imparted only beauty to his well-favored coun- 
tenance. 

“From his in fancy he had been a favorite of the 
feminine sex, and now the mistress of ‘Aid Monte 


THE LAST story: MY BROTHER JOE. 


49 


Villa,’ in El Paso, Texas, was won by Joe, our hero, 
before he was of age. He married pretty Daisy 
Sweet on his twentieth birthday. Joe was going to 
school at Maloe Eureka College, situated at Brad- 
ford, Kentucky, when he met her. It was one sultry 
summer Saturday morning as Joe and his room- 
mate, Fred Swain (or Sween, as Fred called himself, 
although he was known as Swain), were walking 
through the beautiful woodland, they saw the girl 
that kindled a flame of love in their bosoms and put 
enmity between them. 

‘‘‘My!’ exclaimed Joe, ‘she’s a beauty! Stay 
back, Fred; I’m to be the first to meet the fairy, for 
I saw her first. Fool, stay back; have you no sense, 
or have you no mind? There!’ finished up Joe, 
after he had felled Fred to the earth with a blow 
from his fist. 

“Fred had surely lost his mind, as Joe had said, 
for he had forgotten all manners, and would have 
rashly forced himself upon her presence had not Joe 
stopped him. Joe went on and politely introduced 
himself, and begged to be excused for intruding. 
She smiled her best, and then Fred came, looking 
angry, but not over-scrupulous, for Joe’s blow had 
roused his ire and dampened his feelings of admira- 
tion. 

“ Daisy had been gathering wild flowers, and they 
added a polish to her own personal charms. It was 
a joy to behold this shy maid; her great brown eyes, 
drooping, reflected her unrivaled beauty, and a 
slight blush on her rose-tinted cheek only caused a 
deadly hatred to spring up in these two friends’ 
hearts, and to sever the ties of friendship that had 
4 


50 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


bound them for twenty years, as she stood there in 
the mellow rays of the sun. 

“ They left the maid and returned to their rooms. 
Both dreamed of her that night, and also of the fu- 
ture. Next day was Sunday, and it is needless to 
say that the boys did not try to see the maid, for 
they did; but Fred ‘got left he stayed at home and 
planned revenge all that day. They were rivals from 
now on. Each tried to impress himself upon Miss 
Daisy, and distress one another. Each one sought 
her company, and fought for her kind favor with 
blows and hot words; but Joe won her promise be- 
fore three months had passed. He was preferred 
over a dozen other young men. Pretty Daisy Sweet 
became Daisy Sharp (Joe’s wife) before the year 
was out; but he had a hard time in winning the 
queen that now presides over ‘Aid Monte Villa.’ 

“A queer duel between Joe and Fred Swain ended 
all opposition; a duel that none witnessed but the 
combatants. Nothing but a duel would satisfy Fred 
when he learned that Joe had won Daisy’s heart and 
hand. Joe was not slow in granting his wish. They 
retired to the same woods where they had first seen 
the maiden who had caused all this ill feeling, and 
there occurred the duel. The rules of dueling were 
obeyed, and when Joe said ‘Three,’ a ‘bang! bang!’ 
simultaneously followed; and when the smoke cleared 
away, Joe stood erect, looking triumphant, and Fred 
lay face foremost on the ground, seriously wounded. 
Joe was slightly wounded in the arm. He went to 
his rival and found him slowly bleeding to death, 
yet (I never would have thought it of Joe) he 
would not stanch the flow. Fred dreamily opened 


THE LAST story: MY BROTHER JOE. 


51 


his eyes, and feebly said: ‘Forgive, Joe; forgive; 
save me! I was imprudent. If I die, remember 
me; if I live, forget me, for I see you hate — oh !’ 

“Joe left hurriedly, and went to Daisy’s home. 
They married in October, and departed for Texas, 
and settled in El Paso, where they may be found to- 
day; for Joe said he never could bear to live where 
Fred Swain’s piercing black eyes always stared at 
him, seeming to ask him for help, and then mocking 
him to his teeth. Xo, he could not dare to be haunt- 
ed by the dead face of his rival, and see midnight 
visions of one whom he once regarded as a friend, 
but not as an enemy: so this was why he left. 

“Joe prospered in his new home, ‘the villa,’ and 
before a year had passed his lovely wife gave him a 
beautiful daughter, whom they christened Nellie. 
Another year passed, and another, and so on until 
twenty happy years had rolled away. Four children 
blessed this happy union, and now their eldest 
daughter is to become the wife of Captain Sween in 
December. 


“Fred Swain was two years younger than Joe, and 
of a richer family than Joe; and as he lay there in 
pain, both bodily and mental, he rued the day he 
was born; but when he thought of dying, he said : 
‘How foolish I am 1 I wronged Joe, I know I did; 
but oh, how I loved her, even at first sight 1 But, 
my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Am I to die 
like a dog? I forgive all, but die I will not. I feel 
it, Joe and I will be friends some day; but the pain 
—oh!’ 

“ He was found by a friend in a semi-conscious 


52 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


state, and was taken where he could receive medical 
aid; and after a lingering illness of some months he 
was reported out of danger, and rapidly recovered, 
to the astonishment of his friends and relatives. He 
never told w^here, how, or anything about the duel. 
He joined the army, and soon gained prominence. 
Twenty years rolled by, yet he never married. 

“ He never heard of Joe, where he was or w^hat he 
was doing. At last his regiment was ordered to the 
West, and while out there Fred concluded to see the 
country. He visited several states. On the 30th of 
May he received a letter from a friend in Houston, 
Texas, saying : ‘ Come to see me.’ Well, as he could 
get off duty easily, he thought he would go to see 
him. The train was behind time at El Paso, and he 
had to stay over; but, as we shall see, he never re- 
gretted it. It was in the evening, and the next train 
would pass at nine o’clock that night, so he had 
plenty of time to see the town. He met a former 
schoolmate, and nothing would do him but that he 
should attend a masquerade party at Mr. Sharp’s. 

“Fred called himself Sween, and told his friend 
that he had found a mistake in the family record 
(which w’as true), and therefore it was necessary 
that he change it. 

“Fred did not know that he was going to the 
home of an enemy; and when he heard the name 
Sharp, he never thought it to be his old friend, cr 
rival. 

“ AVell, he went to the party; and, as luck w’ould 
have it. Miss Nellie Sharp was his consort. She 
w^as only nineteen, and she was the picture of her 
mother and the image of her father, and as they 


THE LAST STOKY: MY BKOTHER JOE. 53 

were both handsome, she could not be anything else 
than an ideal creature of beauty. Her beauty was 
not artificial, so-called beauty — the creation of cos- 
metics, superfluity of dress, hair, etc. — but a natural 
endowment, given by God himself. Fred begged her 
to remove her mask, but she would not for a long 
time. Fred never wore his at all. 

“ They were sitting on the veranda, and the gentle 
queen of night shed her silver rays on the unhidden 
faces of the two. Although they had never seen 
one another till just then (but had been together), 
they admired each other. Fred’s heart gave a great 
throb of adoration when he saw her face, and he 
felt that she was the only woman that w^as perfect to 
his eye; she was an ideal woman, he saw, and the 
only one he would care to win. 

“Nellie appeared very attractive on that night, 
and more than once she caught herself admiring 
honest Fred Sween, and even learning to love him. 
Fred delighted her by telling of his adventures. 
She told Fred she knew nothing of her parents, for 
they would not inform her; but on her wedding 
night she heard all. 

“Hours sped swiftly, and the joyous pastimes in 
which all had engaged came to an end. 

‘‘ Fred met Mr. and Mrs. Sharp, but he saw no 
likeness to his friend and rival, or to his old sweet- 
heart. At the hour for separation Fred left, but he 
made an engagement for the next afternoon. 

“Nellie charmed her parents by telling them of 
the gallant, attractive, honest, and good-looking cap- 
tain; and they were more than anxious to have their 
daughter keep his company. They had met as friends 


54 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


of to-day, but neither of them suspected or recog- 
nized an old acquaintance — the two enemies of 
twenty years ago; yet the happiest evening for a 
number of years was the privilege of the captain. 

“Of course Fred would not leave El Paso, the 
only city he cared for, and ‘Aid Monte Villa,’ the 
only house he cared for, and Nellie Sharp, the only 
girl he cared for; and she had already won the heart 
of her father’s rival, but he had not won her hand. 

“A pleasant evening was spent by Fred next day 
with Nellie. A short courtship followed, and before 
two months had passed she was pledged to be his 
wife. 

“ It was a harder task for Fred to ask Mr. Sharp 
for Nellie than it was to ask her. After a long clos- 
eted interview, Fred emerged from Joe’s ofBce with 
a radiant smile upon his face. What had the answer 
been? Guess? Pshaw! no use of guessing, for you 
may know it was ‘ yes.’ 

“ The papers announced the wedding for Decem- 
ber the 10th, and on that day the nuptial knot was 
tied that bound the hearts of Fred Sween and Nellie 
Sharp into one heart forever. A larger crowd was 
never seen at a wedding; the ‘villa’ was literally 
alive with guests. That night, after all but the fam- 
ily had retired, Fred and Nellie were looking in the 
photograph album, when they came across the pic- 
ture of Daisy Sweet. 

“ ‘That is my mother when she was young,’ said 
Nellie. 

“‘Ah! that is Daisy Sweet, not your mother,’ said 
Fred. 

“ ‘ Did you know her? ’ said Joe. 


THE LAST STOKY: MY BKOTHER JOE. 


55 


“ ‘ Did I know her? ’ Oh! I was shot by Joe Sharp 
for trying to win her from him. Now I recognize 
you, Joe. Daisy, receive an old friend. I am no long- 
er a rival, but, thank God, I’m a relative — your son- 
in-law. Forgive the past; shake hands,’ said Fred. 
And then Nellie knew all about her parents, for they 
conversed at large on that subject when all had for- 
given and embraced each other. 

“ Now let us leave them happy and contented on 
Joe’s marriage night.” 

I will leave it to the reader to find the lesson, 
and also to judge who received the prize that Uncle 
Jack offered. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The Skating House. 

We received invitations to attend the skater’s annual 
exhibition, and accepted, as it had turned from a 
drizzling rain to a bleaching snow: then a cold north 
wind came which froze the water in the skating 
house to perfection. 

It was Wednesday evening, and the exercises 
commenced at four o’clock. We all made ready to 
go. I went, and escorted Henrietta over to the 
skating house, which was half a mile from town. 
Of course sister Lucy and my cousins had escorts, 
the same ones that we met on the first Sunday at 
Ledgerwood. I thought Henrietta rather jovial and 
talkative on that night. She would not believe one 
thing I would say, but declared, “ You do not mean 
it, Will.” 

We arrived rather late, and found the house par- 
tially crowded. 

There was a prize offered to the most graceful, 
gallant, and fleetest couple. Henrietta and I tried 
for it. I had never been on ice much, and oh how 
many falls I did get! Cousin Mamie was an excellent 
and swift skater, and she and James Burch received 
the prize, which was a handsome cake with presents 
inside. The presents consisted of two fine gold 
rings, one for a gentleman and the other for a lady. 

After we had skated until we were tired, we en- 


THE SKATING HOUSE. 


57 


tered the spacious reception hall and partook of re- 
freshments. 

The manager wanted some one to speak. I no- 
ticed that the crowd w^as dry, and thought I could 
enliven them. Well, sure enough, I was called upon 
to do so. I arose, and in a long, droll manner spoke 
a speech of my own manufacture: 

“For sail — yes, what iz it for sail? Why, it iz a 
gud kwanitie of sparkling likwid fire that iz a sure 
death producer, a mind burner, a purse robber as 
well as a bread robber of a fading wife and starving 
orphans; a grave welcomer for u, grief for a father, a 
heart breaker for a muther and sister, a stab tu a 
bruther’s breast, a society demoralizer, a devil’s 
weapon, a suicide’s tool, insanity’s home, sickness’s 
friend, a country wrecker, a home miner, a demon’s 
agent, and gud for cool weather or a system strength- 
ener; or, maybe, before this a burning brain, a 
scorching tung, a burnt, worn-out stumake, shaking 
limbs, cole feet, unsteady walk, protruding, blud- 
shotten eyes, a toper’s nose, and a fule in general. 
Well, this is gud. These are some effecks. 

‘‘ ‘ Here, sir, that iz the very thing I want for mi 
sun; he kneads it,’ the father will say, after hearing 
of this wonderful tonic. The muther says: ‘Send 
me a kwart for mi dauter, she kneads a little for 
her stumake’s sake.’ And father and muther send 
for sum for theirselves. Of course that iz com- 
mendable, they act scentsible; it iz the very thing 
for a home, and a help as well as a curse to children. 
Quit having the stuff on ure tables. 

“A thing that produces such effecks ought to be 
bought, pushed, and praised just to populate hades. 


58 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


if iiotliiiig else, and it iz remarkably cheep— only 
fore dollars a gallon; u can get sum cheeper that 
will produce a gud effeck quicker, but it iz not so well 
tasted as the pure old Linkun county. 

“‘I want sum ov it. Where can i git it?’ sum 1 
says; ‘at the store?’ It Inks like every store shud 
keep it.’ ‘ U can git it only at a sallune or a polecat 
still,’ I wud anser. ‘I declare! can’t i git it only at 
them places? I want tu take mi gurl sum to make 
her lively, talkative, and witty. A grate many peple 
voat for it; of coarse it iz awl rite, for they are of 
the highest ranks, and the guvermint iz in favor 
with it.’ ‘No, sir; u cannot get it at no uther place 
az i no of. Az u say, it iz awl rite in every respeck. 
Church members (sum) take a morning dram, states- 
men drink it, society does not ignore it, and all fules 
like it. 

“ ‘ Ef i wuz goin’ tu drink i wud want tu be hair- 
lipt, so i wud never be nown to put a bottle tu mi 
lips. 

“ Ef i was a coin i wud get lost before i would go 
to a bartender’s pocket. That is strickly ’onest; and 
i am no bier-keg-headed, bottle-lipped, demijohn- 
eyed, ginpop-legged Squash, ef i do grow on a vine 
and am still green. 

“ Sum men are like liquor bottles — nobody but 
the devil wants ’em, and they wud put out hiz fire. 
Ef you wus tu take a peep in 2 hiz home you wud 
find a hole lot of drunkards hung up by the seats of 
thare pants around the walls of hiz home, with a big 
fire under them. ‘Old Nick’ has to dry ’em before 
they will burn, they are so sappy and full of tonic; 
and them that are hung up are going like a steam 


THE SKATING HOUSE. 59 

engine, whizzing and sputtering just like a green 
black gum log. The kind of kindling he wants iz a 
Christian that drinks a little. A gud shaving! a dry 
splinter! ha! ha! 

“Ef you ever git in a hurry for eny shrouds, un- 
dertakers’ guds, a populur box with sum handles on 
it and a tin plate on it that says ‘At Best,’ a box 6 
by 3 feet (that is big enuff for eny fule), and u want 
tu ride in a glass karrage drawn by horses in mourn- 
ing, very slowly, and then be carried in 2 a church 
and be praised and cried over by a preacher hu takes 
an occasional swig and pore relatives hu naturally 
feel like crying just for ceremony— u no they are 
glad u are gone — well, ef you want awl this, just git 
u a bottle and fill it up and let it run and soak in, 
and keep it up — don’t vomit it up, for that iz ugly — 
u will have ure wish granted, ure hopes found, ure 
prares answered, or my name iz not Joab Squash.” 
(Prolonged applause.) 

The manager thanked me heartily. The crowd 
adjourned after offering me a token of appreciation 
in the shape of a beautiful gold-headed cane. I ac- 
cepted it with a grateful heart, as I sorely needed it; 
for you know that I am a bit lame. 

Well, Henrietta and I started. On the way I 
asked her how much she liked me. 

“O, Will, I think much of you as a friend, but 
you are too overbearing to suit me. You don’t mean 
what you say. Why, you talk as if you and I had 
up, or down, a big case. The first time you were 
with me alone you spoke little sweet words into my 
ear, you know. I don’t believe you meant it; and 
now if you want to go with me, you will have to be 


60 


A YEAE WITH UNCLE JACK. 


a little more cautious. But after a bit you can say — 
well, you know wliat I mean; can say, ‘Little dar- 
ling,’ ‘ Dove,’ or use some other such term.” 

I was stunned. Had T been too fast? Surely I 
had, but not intentionally. 

“Well, can I go with you to church Sunday 
night? ” said I. 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” she replied. 

We had reached the house before we knew it. I 
did not go in ; for, besides a savage dog, there might 
be an irate father. So, after bidding her good-night, 
I went to Uncle Jack’s. I stumbled over two or 
three dogs on the way, for some boys ran me nearly 
to death with Roman candles. I got there at last 
and found Tom fast asleep. 

Time swiftly speeds along. Sunday had come 
again, and found us once more at the church to hear 
a sermon by Dr. Bone. And then Sunday night. 


CHAPTER X. 

Henrietta. 

Who was the pretty, fair blonde with demure blue 
eyes that could look through you, and with such 
roseate cheeks, each bearing a dimple? Was she 
this, the girl I thought she was, or was she a be- 
witching fairy who beguiled men and led them oflP to 
what seemed happiness, hope, and honor? Ah! 
happiness that melts as the w^axen taper or tallow 
candle before the fire? Was she this? I still ask 
the question. Who can answer? Not I; I am sure 
I could not. Was she the mystery, yet unraveled, or 
was she the little pet, my bride to be? 

Did she care for me? Doubting, I asked this 
question over and over to myself. I thought her an 
enigma. She was vain; she was chimerical; she was 
independent: all this I knew at first. Could I un- 
puzzle the question? I asked myself time and again. 
Who was she? I want some one to answer. Yes, 
she was the daughter of that honored, gray-haired 
old farmer; everybody knew that. She went neatly 
but not extravagantly dressed. She had a good 
character, and her manner was unassuming; she was 
kind and gentle as any lady; but what a countenance 
she had! I must test it. (I did, but she outlooked 
me.) She was liked and loved by all who knew 
her; she was well educated, and could play on any 
instrument, from a Jew’s-harp to a cornet. 


62 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


I was perplexed sure enough on Sunday evening 
when I received a note from this strange girl with 
whom I had fallen in love at first sight. I thought 
it ominous, and could not bear to read it; but, alas! 
I found it too true. It went straight as an arrow 
from a strong bow to my heart. It ran thus: 

At Home, Sunday Evening, January 10, 18 — . 

Mu. Tom Cartier— Dear Friend: I hope you will not be of- 
fended in the least when you read the contents of this little 
note; but of course you know, and I know% that you have just 
been making these little engagements for fun, and I think it 
has gone far enough ; so 1 wish to be released from the engage- 
ment I made last Wednesday night. Now, Tom, we have al- 
ways been good friends, and I hope we will remain friends. 
We are more like kinsfolk than anything else, so we will just 
drop this little “ flirtation ” on your part. I’ve had no hand in 
it, and of course that is what it has been. 

Please excuse this hurriedly written note; and hoping that 
you will not get angry, I remain, as ever. 

Your friend, G. 

What did she mean by that? I wondered why she 
addressed me by my first name; how came she to 
know it? By Cousin Mamie, perhaps. And she 
signed her name 0. C. for what? I did not know, 
but soon found it out. 

She had six or seven different noms de plume. C. 
Avas ‘‘ Castolina,” a character in a drama, and she 
bore the name because she had acted that charac- 
ter. “ Jessie Fortune ” Avas another assumed name 
of hers; it Avas also a character in some comedietta. 
“BroAvser” Avas another; I knoAv not how she came 
to adopt it. ‘‘Angel ” was a name given her by my 
aunt, father’s sister Susien, Avho Avas teaching school 
at Ledgerwood. She and Henrietta Avere great cro- 


HENRIETTA. 


63 


nies. “It” was the laconic name given her by her 
father. I know not what for. 

After I received that letter I sent her an answer, 
which was something like this: 

Ledgerwood, January 13, 18 — . 

“Castolina” — Dear Friend: Your impoitant little missive 
to hand gave me a shock; sent the hot blood burning to my 
brain; left me tre^nbling as if I were to be hanged. I did not 
at first believe you wrote it; but having found out that you 
did, I thought some silly persm had made a lie about me, and 
told you. I had hints to that effect; but I thought, and still 
tliink, that you ought rot to believe everything you hear. 
Trynel [a suitor of hers] and I are enough to run one crazy 
on the subject. I should think you would treat him as you 
have done me, if not worse. 

Oh yes, I do not care for breaking these little “flirts”; they 
are “ no good.” But you talk as if I was funning [and I was] 
and you mean business. Well, I can mean business as w^ell 
as you can. I think you should have let me go with you Sun- 
day night, and then broken loose. 

Ever since I knew you I have held you in profound respect, 
an 1 so do now. I have worshiped the blessed ground that 
you have trod upon. You must not think me jesting, for I 
mean exactly what I say. Since I came here I have had an un- 
usual yearning to be with you and talk with you. You surely 
did not expect me to be earnest-like right at the start, for I 
thought all flirtation l^egan with fun. Cannot you have fun 
with me as well as with anyone else? Am I really too over- 
l)earing, or dogmatic, or sarcastic, or too emphatic, while you 
are a ? gentle as a lamb ? 

Yes, it does s em as if we were kinsfolk. I wish I was 
nearer kin to such as you. You are at Aunt Lydia’s so 
much with Aunt Susien, it does seem that we are kin; but you 
must tell me what kin we seem to hQ—sweeihearls, friends, or 
“two giddy young goslings” who run after the same crumb? 
I have always liked you as a friend, and wish it were so that I 
could like you as an admirer, for I do admire you above all 
other girls of this city. Do you not think so? 


64 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


Don’t let this breaking of engagements debar me from ever 
going with you any more? Of course I should not want to 
go all the time, but on some state occasions. Yes, if you want 
to mean business, mean it; for I would rather a girl w^ould 
tell a boy the plain English than to hint around. 

I was never angry with yon, and never expect to be. I 
wish I con Id talk to you for awhile. Did you want to dis- 
card me for Trynel? I glory in getting to see him jilted (if you 
did that for him). Nonsense! You do not want to marry 
any more than I do (and I do, you think). 

Say, how wmuld it suit you for us just to write and not go 
together? I am not funning or jesting; no indeed, I am not. 
You said you had no part in it. I beg your pardon to say 
that you did. Your handsome face, your winning ways, en- 
ticing beauty, your lovely character, your social standing, all 
pointed out to me the fact that you were all in all. Perhaps 
you think I am too young to go wdth you, or you with me. 
You are not too old for me. I think we are about the same 
age — your being two years the older does not bother any- 
body. You may be older in experience than I am. 

Henrietta, I want you always to remember me as a true 
friend. I wdsh I could say more than a friend. Ah, but you 
say we are like kinsfolk. Well, kinsfolk go with each other. 

Pardon all that seems to you amiss in what I have said and 
done. You friend as ever, 

T. Will Cartier. 

The very next day I received an answer; but I 
must explain before I let you read it. 

When I first came to Ledgerwood I went with 
Henrietta’s cousin, Talle Reeves. One night I asked 
Talle to let me go with her. She said that she had 
company, and I must excuse her. I then asked ‘‘ Cas- 
tolina,” and she responded with a big “yes.” About 
the time I got ready she perceived that she was 
“second choice,” and would hardly go with me. I 
tried to explain, but I could not change her mind. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Her Answer and Its Effect. 

Well, that answer came. Henrietta had repented a 
a little; at least I think she had. I had found out 
that she was a plain talker; but plain as it seemed, 
to save my life I could not make it out fully, though I 
think she told me the truth every time. Header, if 
you have ever been in my fix, you can surely under- 
stand and sympathize with me. But that answer — 
here it is, verhatim et literathn : 

At Home, Thursday Evening. 

Mr. T. Will Cartier : Have just received your letter, and 
must say I was as much surprised as you were to receive mine. 

I thought you would just let it pass on that way and say noth- 
ing else about it; but here 5^011 come with a great long letter 
that is enough to melt a heart of stone. The idea, Tom ! I 
never thought of such a thing as our getting up a case, being 
sweethearts, or whatever else you want to call it. I said you • 
seemed like kinsfolk to me because we had been together a 
great deal since you have been here, and your Aunt Susien 
was my companion, and we played and rollicked around and 
treated each other just like a brother and sister, or cousin; 
and of course folks do not treat their beau ” that way. I 
have always thought lots of you as a friend, and there is 
nothing in my power that I would not do for you as a friend. 
And I never thought of anything else than being a friend; but 
after you had gone with me a time or two, I thought it was 
just for fun. Even after you wrote that little love letter 
[poetry that I had sent her about “second choice’’], I call it, I 
still thought the same; but when I got that last letter, it was 
too severe. I tried not to believe it, but still I could not see 
how anyone could write such and not mean it; and you said 
5 


66 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


you meant it. Of course I have to believe, but I hope it is not 
that way. If it is, or is not, it has to stop somewhere. 

No, I did not break off the engagement wdth you for that 
fool Trynel. It makes me sick and tired to even think of the 
“ ugly varmint,” and you think I should treat him worse than 
I did you. Well, T tell you, he certainly got it worse, a long 
sight worse, than you or anybody else I ever had anything to 
do with. I told bim many ‘Mittle stories,” and he will find it 
out before two weeks. I don’t care for that second choice ” 
business at all; but I guess you thought it was very funny for 
me to be his “second choice.” That was to be his last time 
anyhow. He thinks he is “the one,” but he will come to his 
senses in a few days, and I think you will get over your little 
shock in a short time. You will awake to find it all a dream, 
and you will realize how silly you have been, and be sorry that 
you wrote to me. 

I guess boys are like girls when they tell stories. When I 
tell one I try to look as innocent as I can, and make people be- 
lieve it whether they want to or not. I think that is the way 
with you. Of course 'you do not mean it, although you said 
you did, and vowed that you worshiped the ground I trod 
on, and such as that, till you got me to believe it. And then it 
would be so funny: I truly hope it is that way, and think it is. 
If you think that you mean it, you will find out in a few days 
that you did not, that it is all imagination. “The heart that 
* has truly loved never forgets,” and you will find out that it was 
not true, genuine love. You will soon forget all about it, even 
if you do think it now; but I have my doubts about your 
thinking it. 

Nobody has ever made me a believer yet; no one has ever 
awakened that little feeling you call love in my heart yet. I 
think very much of some boys as friends ; I like to be with 
them and ride around and pass off the time, but that is as far 
as 1 have ever gone yet. And I hardly think you could fall 
so hopelessly in love all of a sudden. But, Tom, if you ever 
need a girl friend, if you ever see the time that I can help you 
in any way, I will be your friend, I will help you if it is in my 
power. It does not look reasonable now that you, a strong 
boy, will need help of me, a poor, frail-bodied, weak-minded 
girl. It may be that some time you will need my friendship. 


HER ANSWER AND ITS EFFECT. 


67 


but it is more apt to be that I will need yours, and if I ever do 
I hope I will find a friend in you. I am certainly your friend 
till death. I do not mind to occasionally write to you. So 
good-by. Your friend, “ 0.” 

How could I answer it? It was not so rough, but 
to the point. The effect on me is imaginable to the 
reader. You can see that this courtship was plain 
from alpha to omega. I must try to regain some 
confidence with her; so I wrote again. 


CHAPTER XII. 

My AnkSwer and Its Effect. 

My answer to her last letter had the effect of making 
her feel a little insulted at my persistence in still 
pushing the case. It was like this: 

Ledgerwood, January 25, 18 — . 

Miss Henrietta Seaguards — Kind Kriend: Your kind letter 
to hand. I was very glad to receive it. It brought such good 
tidings, and bore such a resemblance to the writer of it. Your 
letters are so sensible, so characteristic of friendship, hope, and 
fidelity. I notice that you are good at writing “ angel-winged 
missives^’; yes, I know why — because you are an “angel.’’ 
You seem to think me imaginative about some things, fanci- 
ful or that I have none but roaming ideas. Nay, it is not so. 
Old Saturn would forget to let go his rays of light to other 
planets, and old Sol, as he sits on his throne of brightness and 
sends his beams of illumination that are wafted on ethereal 
wings of poised breath and seem to play hide-and-seek with 
the dead, would forget and stop if I were just to be fanciful or 
imaginative. I find your cure for “ shocks ” to be not effective. 
I have followed directions carefully, but without avail. I have 
waited, I have tried to forget, but I could not. In the daytime 
you haunt me, and at night, when I am asleep, visions come 
and remind me that there is one, and one only, ideal girl named 
Henrietta; and they whisper in my ear these words: “She is 
one who will not deceive you, or talk behind your back. If 
others have failed to make her a convert to the grand prin- 
ciples that Cupid, god of love, has given man and woman, and 
she has not heeded, that is no reason why you should be dis- 
couraged and give up all hope. She has already told you that 
her heart is not of stone; then maybe you by your wooing 
might strike the chord of her heart and melt all opposition. 

Now, Henrietta, pardon these random thoughts. “Casto- 


MY ANSWER AND ITS EFFECT. 


69 


lina/^ tell me why it is that you and I never can agree on any 
subject that we have up for consideration? It is a mystery to 
me. It seems that w^e might agree on a few things at least. I 
thank you most cordially for giving me the chance of occa- 
sionally writing to you. Of course no one should know of this. 
We can still be true friends, without any public declarations or 
formalities, and write letters to each other once or twice a fort- 
night. Yes, if I w^ere to ‘‘get up a case’’ with anyone, you 
would be my ideal choice. I w’ould not for the world offer you 
any “gilded lies”; no, indeed. I know full well that “the 
heart that truly loves never forgets.” I will never forget the 
blue-eyed bonnie maid who writes to me, and to whom I 
write. Even if I am cast on oceans wild or raging seas, or 
lost in jungles of ferocious beasts, or on lands where heartless 
men seek the life-blood of the unw^ary traveler, I would not 
forget thee, “Castolina” — no, never; no, never! I yet remem- 
ber that “ hope is a lover’s staff,” and if I lean on hope I 
will come out all right in the end. “0 consistency! thou art 
a jewel ” ; and if I be consistent, then I will receive the re- 
ward of the faithful. 

Now, if I make any mistakes or erroneous statements, cor- 
rect them. I do not care for correction — no, not a bit — for 
life is full of mistakes. I need help every day, and your strong- 
minded, sensible letters help me to a marked degree. I have 
never thought that you do not mean what you say. Of course 
you mean every word for my good. I do not think I fell so 
“ hopelessly ” in whatever you call it — that affection which 
binds friendship and fidelity together. 

I have had these identical thoughts for some time, but have 
had no chance to talk with you about them. Why do you 
want to stop before we are fairly started? You are always 
saying, “ Some things will have to stop, they cannot run al- 
ways.” You surely think I am “dead gone”— “stuck ” on 
you; but not quite, for I see it does not come of a sudden 
(every time), but by degrees. I wish you could believe some 
things I say. Why, my soul, I believe all you say that is of 
any good. I do wish you would do the same thing with me; 
but you say, “I am weak, weak-minded.” Well, that may be 
so according to your judgment, but not to mine. You could 
not write such letters if it were so. You write so sensibly, so 


70 


A YEAB WITH UNCLE JACK. 


honestly, that I cannot help believing; and when I am gloomy 
or discontented, I get your letters and read and ponder over 
their contents. I do not know which to talk to, your head or 
heart. If I talk to your wise little head, which is so full of 
knowledge and sense, I get beaten and outgeneraled every 
time. And your heart, you say, is impenetrable, and not so 
easily awakened as one would think. I am deeply impressed 
by your argument of self-defense. You are my friend, and I 
am yours. You should know, if you do not, that you have al- 
most captivated your earnest Tom. 

Why do you not answer the whys and wherefores of my il- 
literate epistles? I know they look shabby beside yours. I 
ask that you pardon these remarks of your admirer (or friend, 
if you want it to be such), and excuse all mistakes, either of 
omission or commission, and remember that I am your friend 
until death. T. Will Cartier. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

We Agree to Correspond. 

I FOUND that I could not go with her, so we con- 
cluded to correspond. Her answer to my last letter 
came promptly. I saw that she was tired of writing 
already, but I determined to push the business. 
Her answer was as follows: 

At Home, Monday Morning. 

Tom : I cannot say that it is a pleasure for me to answer your 
letter this morning, for it would not be true if I said it; but it 
is not because I don’t wish to write to you, nor because I don’t 
like to get your letters; but do you know that I really feel mean 
about it ? I have told you the truth all along ; I have not tried 
to deceive you ; so I feel that I am clear. If you didn’t stay 
here, right here where I see you every day, nothing w’ould af- 
ford me more pleasure than writing you long letters, friendly 
and newsy, and receiving the same from you; but as it is I 
can’t enjoy it very much. If you were an “old hand” at the 
business, and wulting such letters to me, and I knew you were 
flirting, I could come up with you, I could carry you just as far 
as you could me ; but that is something I don’t follow unless 
somebody takes the lead, and then I follow pretty well— well 
enough to keep up and try my best to get ahead ; but one as 
young and as innocent as you are I can’t follow, even if you do 
take the lead — as you have done, although you still deny it. 
And you can’t forget it. I’m thinking you didn’t try very hard 
if you had anything to forget. That “ if” always comes in : 
remember, if I should happen to forget to put it in. 

You see I still doubt, and still hope it will turn out that 
way. You’ll finally own up, I think. You’ll get tired of tell- 
ing stories. You know it’s wrong, “and I don’t tell them.” 
It’s so strange that you think it has not been very sudden, 
when you didn’t think of such a thing until my cousin “ went 


72 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


back ” on you. I guess she did. It looks very much like that 
anyway. I think it came very suddenly myself, after you 
found that somebody else had to be “ second choice,” that you 
had made a miserable failure at first. But you say “second 
choice ” is better tlian the first. I care not for that at all. I feel 
highly honored to be made “ second choice ” by you, and by 
Trynel too, if he fixes it up as you do. How would the third 
choice be? My friend, Delia Dork, says she is “ struck ” on 
you, and wonders if it will do her any good. 

I hope you have come to yourself by this time, and can see 
your way (but I’m so sleepy I can’t see mine this morning), so 
I’ll leave you to ponder over this good, “ angelic ” letter — ha ! 
ha! 

Your friend, the same yesterday and to-morrow, not changed 
the least. “Jessie Fortune.” 

To this I made the following answer: 

Dear Friend: Your welcome letter to hand. Glad indeed to 
hear from you. Glad also to know you were not tired of re- 
ceiving my illiterate yet humble letters. Yes, it might seem 
best to receive letters from one afar off ; but then I never get to 
talk with you, hardly ever see you, and what could I do but 
write to you ? You are a consoling friend of friends. 

You write as if I tried to “get up a case” with Z.; but alas! 
I knew when I was going with her that she was under obliga- 
tions to no other than Tom Bee. Of course I went only as an 
escort, not as a companion, with all friendly regard to her. I 
have no ill feeling against her. I have had an eye on you; yes, 
I have often cast a “ sheep’s eye ” toward you ; but the thought 
of going with her had never occurred to me until that blessed 
time that I went. I had heard some boys say that you would 
not notice such as me, and that you were vain and self-conceit- 
ed; but a friend told me to fear no harm, for you were the most 
social and the wisest girl of the town, if you did cut up high 
capers sometimes. He also said he thought you had quit giving 
bo5^s the “ sack ” — “ getting left,” as some call it. I took him at 
his word, and found it not only partly but wholly true. You 
are social, friendly, and a gallant little heroine of whom any- 
body ought to be proud of even getting a chance to write to. 

I saw Trynel at Dublorston Sunday night. 


WE AGREE TO CORRESPOND. 


73 


I am beginning to write poetry again. I send yon a copy 
of a i)iece or two. Bat do not take them to heart, for poetry 
is not always true : it may have a true basis, but very soon 
drifts out on the sea of imagination; yet some poetry is re- 
alistic, charming, and beneficial to those who like it ; but 
the few verses that I compose are written not to be glossy, 
flowery, nor do they lead to a course of progression, hope, or 
happiness — nothing but foolishness, no honor at all. Perhaps 
you may believe much of it, but I know nobody else will. 
You can take it the best you can, sweet or sour, hot or cold, 
wet or dry. (I mean just what I write, and want you to do 
the same.) Will you not, “ Castolina,’’ my dearest friend? Of 
course you will. 

Now, “ Castolina,’’ you know" me, I think. I am glad that 
“second choice” made the change (if it did; I doubt it, but 
you claim it such). I have frequently told you why you were 
“second choice” that time, and see no need of further expla- 
nation — do you? — so let it stand until doom shall be no more, 
and fate shall call no more her blessed pets of forgotten days 
of love; let it stand until the fiery terrors of hades shall not 
intimidate or horrify man. Delia can talk about it as much 
as she pleases, for she doesn’t mean w^hat she says, I suppose. 

Now, don’t get weary at my long writing or ignorance. 
You still doubt and fear as to my stability. I do not know 
how" I can convince you otherwise tlian by showing myself 
exemplary to you as a friend, and modest as all young folk 
should be; for I have said “I mean it” enough, I think. Why 
doubt you, my fair-eyed, lovely friend? for you know I didn’t 
“ fib ” under such circumstances. 1 hope I may always prove 
true and trustworthy to any lady friend, especially to you any- 
how. I know you are true, for blue is the emblem of faithful- 
ness and truth. 

I will close, and hope to receive an early reply. I remain 
your faithful friend, T. Will Cartier. 

This was my last regular letter, for we ^‘got mad” 
soon after. In the next chapters I will tell you all 
about that quarrel, if you wish to hear it. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Quarrel. 

Soon after I wrote her the last letter I sent her a 
card asking her company to the ‘‘speaking contest.” 
She did not answer it or my letter. I then thought 
to myself, I’ll bring her to bay if I have to make 
her mad. I then wrote her another card, be- 
cause the “speaking contest” did not come off. I 
thought she knew it, and that was reason enough to 
her instead of answering the former card. No an- 
swer! I grew mad; I was in a revengeful spirit. I 
was going to hear from her. I became desjjerate. I 
sat down (still mad) and wrote thus: 

City, March 1, 18 — . 

“ Castolina’’ Seaguards : You have played your part shrewd- 
ly indeed. I do not care about how high you think you are 
carrying me; no. You have not put me to the ceiling yet, but 
you think you have. I do not care what you do, you little 
witch. You could outgeneral a lobbyist, outwit a lawyer, or out- 
cheat a merchant, and you think you have “ tumbled ” me, but 
you are sadly mistaken. I think I have put you in a do-noth- 
ing, can’t-or-won’t state. 

Which are yon, a bewitching fairy, or a blonde, blue-eyed, 
gay, self-possessed, undaunted, never-failing, little, arrogant, 
haughty girl of this city? You have treated me with con- 
tempt. I now quit you for the present, for I can see that you 
could carry me to the end of nowhere.’’ I only beseech you 
to be my friend, but of course you will not. Yon w ere afraid 
that I w^ould put you in a place where you could not say “ yea ” 
or “nay.” Now believe me (but you will not; you never do), I 
quit for the present, and wait for you to come to your senses 


THE QUARREL. 


75 


on this matter, if you have any ; anyway you have not used 
them with judgment, or in a friendly, social manner, as you 
should. 

If I were a lawyer I would rather have a treacherous Sioux 
for a client than you, or some other would-be smart girls of this 
place. By the way, some of the girls hereabout are really 
good, and treat a boy as he should be treated. You are aware 
that I am not angry, but sorely vexed at your wily ways of 
treating me. 

Take this as you can or will, for I close with a farewell to 
you. Always a friend to ^‘Angel,’^ and hope she is such to me. 

Yours as ever, T. Will Cartier. 

Of course such as that would make her write. 
She came at me with a great, scary letter. I knew 
she was enraged. I dreaded to break open the letter. 
I feared that my doom was sealed, all my hopes 
blasted, and that our courtship was ended, or dor- 
mant for many months to come. Yes, she would have 
to forget before I could go into her presence again. 
As I held the little flowery envelope in my hand my 
head began to whirl around, my heart to jialpitate 
hurriedly, and the blood in my veins rose so swiftly 
that the marrow of my bones seemed to be cooking! 
Could I open the letter? I would try. With trem- 
bling hand I unsealed it, and found that it ran not 
as former letters, but thus: 

At Home, March 4, 18 — . 

Mr. T. Will Cartier: I received your missive a few days 
ago, and I must say I never was so well amused by a letter. 
The idea of your thinking that I have been trying to carry 
you so high,’’ when I have been talking plain English all the 
while ! If I had been trying to get you “ away up yonder,” I 
would have taken a different step altogether. No, indeed, I do 
not think I have ‘Humbled” you either; if I had to “tumble” 
anybody, I would get one that was not so “ignorant on the 
subject.” I think it is shameful for you to talk to me in any 
such way, when I told you, as plainly as I could write, how we 


76 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


stood; but it went in at one ear and out at the other, just like 
everything else j^ou have received from me in the past month. 
It seems that you have changed your opinion of me. For 
awhile you could not say anything too good about me — made 
me think I was perfect in all things; now you cannot say any- 
thing bad enough about me. 

And you have decided to quit me for the present. Did you 
know that I quit several days ago? But I didn’t quit because 
I had carried you far enough. Remember, you quit to let me 
come to my senses, “ if I had any.” I did not quit for that 
purpose either, but I quit simply because I found you did not 
have any senses to come to. “ I only beseech you to be my 
friend” — ha! ha! You surely have lost what little thimbleful 
of sense you did have. You talk as though friendship ” had 
never been mentioned between us, when that has been the 
subject of every letter I wrote you. I was not afraid that you 
would get me to a place where I could not say “ yea” or ‘‘nay ” 
either. I have never been to that place yet, and do not expect 
ever to be led there by a silly schoolboy. I can say yes! yes!! 
YES!!! when it is in the right place; and when the time comes 
to say no, I can say it if I want to — if I do not want to, I keep 
it back till I get ready to say it. 

I should think you are the one who has not used good com- 
mon sense. I talked plainly from the beginning. What else 
could I do? If you had used good sense when I did not an- 
swer your first card, that would have been the last of it; but 
instead of letting it pass, you have to write a letter and then 
another card, and when I didn’t answer either you sent me 
another letter that would scare any girl out of her senses, if 
nothing else would. But you think I haven’t any, and I do 
not claim to have very much, or I would have treated your 
last letter as I did your first. 

Now, Tom, if you see at all, you surely can see that you 
make a bad matter worse at every trial. In the first place, we 
both would have been just as well off, if not better, if this 
thing had never come up; but as it is, it started. It would 
have been best if it had stopped when I broke the engage- 
ment on that Sunday night, and sent you a note that had “ such 
a terrible effect.” But to make it worse, you went on and on 
till you sent a card for me to go to the “ speaking contest.” If you 


THE QUARREL. 


77 


had stopped even there it would have been a good idea, but 
you did not. This brings us to the card yesterday. You did 
not stop there, so Ave stand where we are to-day. 

I found several days ago that ‘‘the least said is the soonest 
mended.” So I think I have got a little more sense than you 
have, after all. It seems that 3 mu have not learned that yet, 
and just keep going; but you have gone all the way by your- 
self. I have talked about as plainly as you did without using 
any rough language. 

You told me to take your letter as best I could. I took it 
just as I would if it had been our dog barking at me. I hope 
that you will take what I have said as lightly. 

Your friend, (8) or H. 

Could I answer such a letter as that? I saw she 
labored under the impression that I was really wick- 
ed. Of course I could not stand that, but I took the 
rest of her letter sorrowfully. So next morning at 
school— for I had started only a month before — I 
wrote her an answer, a part of which I quote: 

I am about half crazy to-day. I have reasons for being so, 
haven’t I? You know why. You should know that I am only 
“ funning,” and have tried your mettle. You get mad at any- 
thing. Now, little “Angel,” I think as much of you as I ever 
did. Do you f^o regard me ? 

Your own friend, T. W. Cartier. 

I w^ould like to have seen her when she read it; 
but I did not answer it as I wished to do, for I was 
in school and had no time. I wondered if she acted as 
I did when I received her letter: doubtless she did. 
She was not far enough gone to refuse to answer it. 

I could not study at school for thinking about her. 
At dinner I went to sleep, w^hen I was suddenly 
awakened to find my friend Jennie Fowler with a 
letter for me. I knew that it was from Henrietta. 
The letter looked as if it had fared pretty roughly. 
Great teardrop stains were on each sheet, and bore 


78 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


evidence that the writer of it had indulged in a good 
deal of weeping; but she wrote a very bold letter, 
thus: 

At Home, Friday. 

Well, Tom, our little drama is over; the curtains are going 
to fall, and you jire no better off than you were at the start; 
neither am J. You were just trying me, w^ere you, to see how 
easy I would get mad? But you are badly out of it, Thomas, 
when you think I got mad, I have not had any notion of get- 
ting mad. You put yourself to great trouble fur nothing, and 
spent your time in writing silly letters when you ought to have 
been studying 5^our lessons ; but of course that is nothing to me. 
As for your harsh words, I have nothing more to sa}*. Things 
are very easily smoothed over sometimes; but I want you to 
understand plainly and distinctly that I am not mad, nor have 
I been mad. I would just as soon think of getting mad at one 
of my brothers for such a scrape as we have gotten into, and 
would just as soon have been swinging one of them for a 
‘‘beau’’ as you; but “I am not mad.” I have to tell you that 
occasionally, or I fear you will not believe it. I think you are 
the one that got mad and tried to smooth things over; but that 
is all right. I think you are a “good little boy,” but the next 
tiine you want to get up a flirtation I cannot say whether 
you will know where to go or not, but you will know where 
not to go. That is w^hat “got” you so badly. I knew all 
along how things would end. I do not think I am very sharp, 
but I was sharp enough not to let you get the best of the fight 
— ha! ha! You see I have traveled that road before. I have 
been thrown sky-high a few times in life — ha! ha! — while you 
are just starting on your journey. But a little advice to you, 
Tom : the next line you throw, let it be toward somebody who 
has never tried a bite at the hook (flirtation). Now, I am not 
mad, remember. 

You w’ere trying my mettle, were you? I think I can 
stand several more such trials. I find that I held my own 
pretty well this time — ha! ha! Of course I think just as much 
of you as I ever did — and a little more, since I found that you 
thought enough of me to want to know so much about me as 
to give me such a “ trial.” 

Always your friend, Henrietta, 


CHAPTER XV, 

The Quarrel (Continued). 

I KNEW we had quit, but we had to wind up our 
business, close out partnership. I did not know 
how, but as this was my first experience at ending a 
courtship quarrel, I thought the next thing for me 
to do was to ask for my letters. They were harder 
to get than I imagined. I wrote for them, and said 
I thought that she was ‘‘ mad,” but was glad to find 
her otherwise, and that we would get up a case of 
flirtation or courtship, but she wouldn’t consent. I 
wrote further, and said: 

“ Castolina,” will you please send me the letters that I have 
written to 5^ou, if you have not destroyed them ? I am not a 
bit mad at you, and love you as never before. I guess all this 
has brought some good; at least I have learned a lesson. You 
gave me the first lesson, but, like the maxim, “United we 
stand, divided we fall,” we never did much, did we? 

I just think you are the nicest and the sweetest girl in 
town. If you do not want to send those letters, I do not care 
a jot. Perhaps you want them for mementoes, do you not ? 
Ha! ha! I will not give a reason why I want them. 

She answered that letter, but did not send the 
others. I did not want them to be in her hands. 
Would she not send them? She only wrote and 
told me she was not “mad”; but I presume you want 
to read it all, so here it is: 

At Home, Thursday Evening. 

Mr. T. Will Cartier: I have just returned home from 
“calling,” and found your missive awaiting an early reply. 


80 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


The idea of my being mad! No, indeed, I am not mad; have 
not had anything to get mad about. I was afraid you had 
some such thoughts; but dismiss them at once, for lam not mad. 

Yours, Henrietta. 

Pshaw! she never said a word about sending them. 
I wrote her and told her I was going to have either 
the letters or her. Yon may guess she answered 
that in a jiffy; but the little witch, or whatever she 
was, never sent them at that time. I thought that 
she had burned them, but her letter (or note) ex- 
plained all, as you will see: 

Tom: Certainly you shall have your letters, all that I haven’t 
burned. I burned one or two that made me so sick [“love”]. 
Now I want to know what you are going to do with mine. I 
am not ashamed of them. I guess you are ashamed of yours — 
that is why you want them ; but I do not want them, or at 
least “ I am not caring.” I w^ant to know what is going to be- 
come of mine. Truly, (8) 

(8) for H., and H. for Henrietta, and Henrietta for 
me, I guess. I then gave her my reasons for want- 
ing my letters, but she did not send them. I told 
her I wanted them. She said: “Send mine, and I 
will send yours, but not before.” So I had to pack 
her letters and send them. And then I got mine 
with a little note attached to them. Of course a 
woman will have the last word, and I laughed while 
reading the note. Maybe you will laugh too: 

Tom: Here are your “precious little letters,” all I have. I 
burned two that made me so sick I could not bear the sight of 
them again. You must think I am a perfect idiot when you 
suppose I did not know you were merely joking about the let- 
U rs. I am willing for all the world to see what I write to you 
or anybody else. I will send your letters without adding any- 
thing at all to them, or rubbing out what you have written. I 
hope you learned a lesson you will never forget. 

“Jessie Fortune.” 


THE QUARREL. 


81 


I received the above on the day school was out. 
When I sent her letters I rubbed out words and put 
others in their place. 

About two weeks after this, on Wednesday even- 
iijg, I sent her a circular announcing an ice-cream 
supper to be held one week from then. A para- 
graph in the circular read: “A nice set of furniture 
will be given to the couple marrying at the ice-cream 
supper.” I inclosed that circular, after writing at 
the bottom: ‘‘Here is your chance, ‘Castolina’; I 
will take you if you want to go. Yours, as ever, C.” 
I then got an office boy to print this address on the 
envelope: “Miss ‘Castolina’ Seaguards, at home 
feeding the chickens.” You may guess she was 
furious. I only did it for a joke, and did not sign 
my name to it, but she sent it back to me anyway. 
She said she was mad. I could not help it, for I 
wanted to have some fun. That was the first time 
she owned up to being mad; but you do not blame 
me, I am sure. 


CHAPTER XVL 

Decoration Day. 

We were all very m.uch surprised on the evening 
before Decoration Day, when my father, mother, and 
little brothers and sisters drove up to Uncle Jack’s 
house. It had been five months since we parted, 
and of course I was proud to see them. 

Pa was an old soldier, and had come to the decora- 
tion of the graves of his brave comrades who had 
fought and died for the Union. Besides, it was a 
regular union day for my father and his brother and 
sisters. There were four of them left — my father 
(Abraham Cartier), Uncle Jack Cartier, Aunt Alice 
Jones (Tom’s mother), and Aunt Susien Cartier, 
who was unmarried. Three of the brothers had fall- 
en in the struggle for the nation’s life. 

The eight o’clock train brought my kinsfolk with 
their families. Such a meeting! Everybody talking 
at once. We all went to bed early, because we need- 
ed rest. 

Decoration Day, the thirtieth of May, with its sa- 
cred memories of our beloved dead, came and passed. 

Our kinspeople stayed only a week. Tom was 
going home to spend the vacation. How we would 
miss him! He was the most jovial, friendly, and 
talkative one of us five. But he would come back to 
the fall session of school; so he would be gone only 
six weeks. 

That one week passed rapidly by, and our good 


DECORATION DAY. 


83 


relatives were gone almost before we knew it. They 
went as silently as they had come, and they carried 
Tom with them. I missed him more than anyone 
else did, for I was with him nearly all the time and 
slept with him. 

One thing I knew: father stayed long enough to 
find out that I had been having a good time with the 
girls, and particularly with one— the daughter of his 
best friend, no other than Henrietta. 

My father had lived at Ledgerwood when he was 
a boy, and the old farmer was his counselor when a 
wandering youth, his stay in time of trouble, and 
his adviser when he had gotten to be a minister of 
the gospel; but it was the first time I had ever been 
to Ledgerwood. 

Yes, my father had found out that I had written 
several letters to Henrietta, and had played a very 
rough joke on her, and that she was offended: so 
he went to her and politely said: ‘‘When you get 
a letter, note, or any writing from Will, burn it.” 
She asked how he had come to know of the affair. 
He told her that some one had informed him all 
about it. She thought it was I, but it wasn’t. I 
soon ascertained that father had seen her, and I also 
learned what he said; so I wrote her this apology: 

Oastolina” : I did wrong. I sent you a very rough joke, 
but I only did it for fun. Will you not forgive? I want you 
to pardon all my shortcomings and evil doings. I am con- 
science-stricken. I know I did wrong in talking about you, 
showing your letters, and then joking you so severely. Now, 
Henrietta, will you not forgive me ? I cannot rest until you 
do. I am your friend; you know it, “Castolina.” I love you, 
and I was only joking. Say, will you not forgive me, an erring 
boy that I am? Surely you will. I think you did me wrong, 


84 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


but I forgive you without your asking it. Will you do that? 
Now, “ Castolina,” do answer this with your pardon. 

I remain, Will. 

She did not forgive me — at least she did not write 
an answer ; but I think she did relent, for she 
looked as if she did when she came to Uncle Jack’s 
a few days after. I could not get a chance to ask 
her anything. If I had had a chance I would have 
brought her to bay and made her talk; but I guess 
she took my father at his word, and my ill-fated 
apology went for naught. I did not take this neg- 
lect in good part. For a long time I sought a 
chance to talk with her, but she was too sly for me, 
and eluded every snare I laid for her. 

I had made a miserable failure in my first attempt 
at courtship; but that was not to be my last trial for 
her. Yes, I resolved to try again. I liked to over- 
come opposition, and I now had a fair field be- 
fore me. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

How Shall I Ovekcome Opposition? 

Did I have opposition ? Yes; fcut how? My parents 
objected to my going with girls; they said I was too 
young. I do not know whether Henrietta’s parents 
were opposed to her associating with me or not; but 
I knew that she liked me as a friend, if not as a 
lover. Ah, then! I would have to show her that I 
was somebody, and could make something out of 
myself. But the greatest of my opposers was a 
‘‘dark horse” — my rival. Did I know that there 
was another in the race? Who was he? I must 
find out; so I kept watch, and saw Glypse Warnerk 
go to her house. 

I had found my rival. I knew him; not personal- 
ly, but by character. He was a drunkard, so people 
said, and had many other failings detrimental to a 
lover. Had Henrietta known all this she probably 
would not have declined my attentions, or we would 
not have broken off so quickly; but she did not 
know it. I thought it was my duty to tell her all 
about it, but I never got a chance to do more than 
hint occasionally. 

How should I manage the great opposition that 
confronted me? Would I fight? No, a thousand 
times no! I would just let it pass without doing 
anything. 

It was now the last of June. Thursday evening 
had found me pondering this question of opposition. 
I had been asleep, when the rumbling of wheels 


86 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


awoke me to find that Cousin Tom and Aunt Su- 
sien had come back. How happy I was to greet 
them! 

Henrietta found that Aunt Susien had arrived, 
and hurried over to my house (Uncle Jack’s) as fast 
as she could. Aunt Susien had been gone only 
three or four weeks, but Henrietta was delighted to 
see her. 

Castolina ” avoided me shyly at first, but her 
timidity soon wore off, and I thought she was the 
prettiest and sweetest thing I ever saw. She and 
Aunt Susien took a horseback ride a few evenings 
after Susien came. I saw them: both looked very 
stylish. 

“ Castolina ” wore a pink Swiss waist, with a skirt 
that matched; gray and pink complemented each 
other nicely: her gray canton flannel skirt just suit- 
ed her pink waist. She looked very handsome. 
Her rosy cheeks, her fair complexion, her luxuri- 
ant growth of auburn hair, her model form, and 
her sweet little words, all pointed out the fact that 
I could not afford to lose her. I was young; would 
that hinder? I thought, no. I had entered my nine- 
teenth year; that was old enough to start, I thought. 
AVell, maybe it was. 

We will have to wait and see how it turns out. I 
knew she had forgiven me; not in words, but her 
actions spoke louder than words. I loved her, and 
wanted her to know it. I had told her of it before, 
but she thought I did not mean it, and was only 
flirting. I would tell her, and all opposition on her 
part would cease at once; but the incident of a run- 
away horse put us closer together. 


HOW SHALL I OVERCOME OPPOSITION? 


87 


There was to be a prize oratorical contest between 
six young men and women of Ledger wood, and the 
same number from Thompson’s College. They were 
to meet on halfway ground and contest for four 
prizes and a banner. I had arranged to go in an old 
wagon. 

The day of the speaking was Saturday, July 7. A 
large crowd was going from Ledgerwood. Susien 
and Henrietta, after failing to get away, came to me 
and persuaded me to work Uncle Jack’s horse to the 
buggy of Henrietta’s father. Well, after some hes- 
itation, I consented to take them. We were to start 
a little after an early dinner. 1 had the horse har- 
nessed and hitched long before the time. We 
reached the halfway ground — the place of the 
speaking, Mt. Siven — very early. It was the first 
time either of us had ever been there. We were an 
hour too soon; so we took a little stroll, and captured 
some fine red June apples out of an orchard. When 
we reached the church it was time to commence. 
We took a seat and heard, alternately, one of Ledger- 
wood’s speakers, then one of Thompson’s College, 
until we were tired. I had “my name up” as a speak- 
er, and when the contestants had finished, and the 
judges had retired to make their decision, I was 
called upon to speak. I accordingly made a humor- 
ous speech, and all had a big laugh. 

The judges then came in and awarded the prize to 
Ledgerwood, and the banner to Thompson’s College. 
The banner was a rich cream silk, with a beautiful 
motto on it; it was a beauty, and worthy of all ad- 
miration. 

Well, we started home, and were going at a brisk 


88 


A YEAH WITH UNCLE JACK. 


rate down a steep declivity which extended to the 
river’s edge, when Henrietta threw her arms around 
my neck and exclaimed, ‘‘ For heaven’s sake, darling, 
hold the horse!” I noticed that she was frightened. 
It soon commenced to rain, and I put up the storm 
robe and side curtains. She said that I was the first 
boy she ever called darling, and that it was a lapsus 
l ing lice. 

We were going along nicely, and had just crossed 
the river again, when the horse suddenly shied and 
turned short — over went the buggy! Henrietta and 
I fell out. I got up as dirt}^ as a hog. After wiping 
my face, I said: “What is the matter? Has that 
old rascal run away?” He had broken loose from 
the buggy, and was sweeping over the hill. Hen- 
rietta was standing under a tree, with her unsoiled 
hat and fan in one hand, and the other hand held to 
her head. I went to her and gently took her hand 
down. My! what a sight! There was a great bruised 
knot over her left eye. When I asked her if she was 
hurt, she rexDlied feebly, “No.” I looked and saw 
Susien (my aunt, but I do not call her so) struggling 
to get out of the buggy. I started to help her, but 
she got out without any assistance. She was “done 
up,” to be sure, and did not deny that she was hurt 
when I asked her. She was trembling, and saying, 
“Bless the Lord! how glad I am that we are not 
killed! ” Henrietta and I could not help laughing 
at her. 

Another such sight I never want to see. The bug- 
gy was turned completely over, and the wheels were 
spinning with electric speed; hats were on the ground, 
[jarts of dresses on the girls and other parts here 


HOW SHALL I OVERCOME OPPOSITION? 


89 


and there on the road and wayside. It was raining 
very hard; so we took shelter under the trees and 
waited a good while for some one to come along. I 
turned the buggy back to its right position, but it 
was crijjpled up considerably. 

Directly several buggies came along, and we each 
stopped one and got in with the occupants. I did 
not go far before I found our horse tied to a tree, 
looking quite penitent. Of course I had to give up 
my comfortable situation in a friend’s buggy and 
take a seat on the horse’s bare back. It was still 
raining, and by and by the mud began to loosen 
from my face and head, and what did it reveal? Aye, 
naught but an ill-favored countenance full of bruises 
which began to swell. I put the old horse through 
in quick time. Everybody I met asked me questions 
which I answered with a bland smile; and then I 
would ask, Do you think it will rain? ” when it was 
already pouring down in torrents. I had on my best 
Sunday clothes, and so did the girls. They were 
ruined beyond doubt; but the girls, with that tenac- 
ity peculiar to their sex, hung on to their sundries, 
such as hats, fans, and kerchiefs, until all w^as over; 
and the next thing they did was to get their things 
safely stored away in some one’s buggy. 

Well, I arrived at home about the time Aunt Su- 
sien did. Aunt Lydia was ‘‘ flustrated ” and scared 
almost to death, and was saying: “What will your 
Uncle Jack say? Oh, tell me, are you hurt?” 

Susien, Cartier-like, was crying, and cried until 
she went to sleep, while I had enough of my moth- 
er’s pluck to laugh, and not take matters to heart so 
easily. Henrietta was about like me in this partic- 


90 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


ular: she would laugh at a corpse. She did not get 
to come back home that night, for she had gotten in 
a buggy that went to Lowell’s Station, and she had 
to stay out there all night. Her uncle, John Reeves, 
started after her, but another heavy rain made him 
turn back. 

I went to town, and was the center of attraction 
for some time. Old men, boys, all were talking, ask- 
ing questions. The old farmer, Henrietta’s fathei*, 
had to ask me all about the mishap. I could hardly 
face him at first, but after my courage arose I could 
have bearded a roaring lion in the jungles of Africa; 
so I told him all. He said he had advised the girls 
before they started to take some rags and plasters 
along, for they would need them; and now he reck- 
oned they had rags enough, and he would furnish 
them with plasters. He was bitterly opposed to 
their going, you see, and seemed glad the accident 
had happened. 

Well, after we had spent a night of suffering we 
arose and began to get ready for Sunday school and 
church ; but a large mirror stopped Aunt Susie n 
when she saw how ugly she was. I went on, how- 
ever, and was turning off Main street to go up 
Church street when I saw Henrietta and her Uncle 
John coming. Such a sight as Henrietta presented! 
That large lump, or knot, above the right eye had 
settled in the left eye, and it was as black as my 
hat. I did not go to Sunday school, for I was 
alarmed about my — I need not say what. Henrietta 
came up to Uncle Jack, and such laughing as we did 
have, all talking at once. 

Each one of us had a black eye or scratches on our 


HOW SHALL I OVERCOME OPPOSITION? 91 

faces: we looked like the runaway animals of some 
circus. I fared the best of all. I was not hurt so 
fearfully as I thought, for my head proved to be 
harder than the gravel bar of the river. We did not 
venture out that Sunday. I would look at Henriet- 
ta and laugh, and ask her “ if she was ever thrown 
sky high? ” 

Seven years have flown since then, but Henrietta 
still has a scar resting over her eye. 

Uncle Jack was away from home when the acci- 
dent happened; he came on Tuesday quite unex- 
pectedly. I apprehended a funeral or two at his 
hands, but he only smiled and said he was sorry that 
our mischance had occurred. 

Henrietta’s ‘‘fellow,” Glypse Warnerk, had to write 
to her and inquire after her welfare. I thought he 
would blame me for the casualty; if he had, I would 
have given him a good trouncing; but he dared not 
lisp a word about it, for I considered that it was not 
my fault; and then I had both girls on my side. 

This small accident tended to make Henrietta 
tame toward me, and opened up a way for the pro- 
gression and extension of my future courtship. This 
is how I tried to overcome the great opposition I 
had. 


CHAPTER XVllI. 

Veni, Vidi, Vici. 

‘‘ I CAME, I saw, I conquered.” “ I came ” to do what ? 
To commence again. Commence what? My court- 
ship. Well, I will say, you are quite clever at 
guessing my thoughts, reader. ‘‘ I saw ” that I had 
rivals by the score, but I would go ahead and not 
heed them. I also saw the way open right there while 
Henrietta did not look so well. However, I was not 
paying attention to facial beauty, but adhered to the 
old maxim that pretty is as pretty does.” ‘‘T con- 
quered.” Yes, I had a way opened up, and all I had 
to do was to push my claim and extend my hand 
just then; but it took something to do all this — the 
cold cash, something I did not have. I am glad now 
I did not have any; but there was a place in Ledger- 
wood called ‘‘Blue Line,” where nobody needed to 
have anything or to do anything, they said. 

Veni^ “ I came.” Yes, it was that way. No, it 
surely was not that way, after she had treated me as 
she did. Why, I am foolish to try again ; she does 
not care for me. Well, well, well, I cannot let such 
a prize as she is slip; so I come again. 

Henrietta, poor girl, had at least seven different 
beaus at once; how could she manage otherwise 
than to give several of them “the drop” ? I would 
rather have been the one dropped at that time, for 
all were eventually disposed of except one, my rival; 


VENI, VIDI, VICI. 


93 


and now that accident had put us together, we meant 
business. 

saw”; yes, I could see; but not much 
since that accident, for my eye was hurt very badly. 
I mean the power of reasoning, to perceive with the 
intellectual understanding. I saw how the case 
stood. 

Glypse was afraid to come while Henrietta was 
looking so badly, and now I could go while she was so 
humiliating toward me. So accordingly I sent her 
my card, and my company was accepted. 

I found out all. I had already the right version 
of affairs, and 1 no longer hesitated to take advan- 
tage of my rivals. Surely I could conquer the 
haughtiest of them all, Glypse Warneck. 

Vici, “I conquered.” Yes, I would conquer. That 
was what I had started in to do. I had them in- 
timidated. I was no longer a bashful lover, afraid 
to speak my sentiments or set forth my opinions. I 
was, in a literal sense, a “done got there”; but I 
failed to make my engagements far enough, and my 
worst rival, Glypse, put an engagement right on top 
of mine (my last one). I fulfilled my engagements 
and longed to start again, but he was always ahead 
of me. He had failed to go one Sunday, and I got 
him and kept him for some time. He had put every 
imaginable kind of notion into my little “ Oastolina’s” 
head. He was bitterly opposed to me; he was jeal- 
ous, and he wanted to have his own way; but, alas ! 
he was not “ in it.” 

Half of the year had flown with the speed of a 
shadow. How short a time it seemed since I came 
to Uncle Jack’s ! Header, you may think that I am 


94 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


the only one of the five; but the rest of them are 
struggling along the same dusty road of life that I 
am. 

I went to see Henrietta as regularly as the Sun- 
day came. Happy hours glided by, and moonlight 
strolls were not uncommon with us. I was in buoy- 
ant spirits all the time. Her presence infatuated 
me; indeed, she was what 1 believed her to be, ‘‘all 
in all.” 

But while I was enjoying myself thus I forgot 
and let one Sunday pass without fulfilling my en- 
gagement. My eagle-eyed adversary took the chance^ 
and for three long months reigned supreme and 
turned her heart, a part of it at least, against me. 
Reader, you see what one gets by not keeping prom- 
ises in this and other things as well; but I had a 
good excuse, and came out all right in the end. I 
had been napping, and I had napped at the very 
worst time — the time when I should have proved my- 
self worthy and true; but I had to go to church that 
day and pay off my debts — money for the preacher, 
etc. I had been going to church regularly, but my 
engagement this time was at the meeting hour. 

I was resolved to win the day if it took a regiment 
of soldiers to do it. I would resort to some strata- 
gem and work a trick on my rival, Glypse, as you 
will see in the next chapter. But did I have success? 
We will see. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

How THE Three Months Were Spent. 

1 STARTED to scliool OH the first Monday in August, 
and in two months was to graduate in bookkeeping 
and banking. All opened up well — large attend- 
ance, good teachers, and geuial schoolmates. My 
books made me abandon all thought of going with 
the girls any more through the week; but on Sun- 
day I took it to heart, and all of the first Sunday 
was spent in planning a way of defeating my rival; 
then a failure of the plan would cause me to bewail 
my position, and again I would rally only to be de- 
pressed and dismayed. But, above all, I was not 
going to let him know that I was hurt; so, after 
calming myself, I thought by going to see Henrietta’s 
cousin, Talle Beeves, I would have a chance to know 
more. She readily consented when I told her how I 
wanted her to act. I asked her to do her best in 
talking for me. I would tell her what to say and do, 
and she would act accordingly. I tried to find a va- 
cant Sunday, but could not. I at last found out 
what was the matter with Henrietta: her father op- 
posed me and favored Glypse because he was a 
clerk and had a lucrative income from the Oion 
Manufacturing Company. 

I longed to talk with my little ‘‘ Castolina,” butfall 
was against me: even my going with her cousin 
caused her lover to hurry up the intended marriage; 
so I failed there. I knew that Henriettai*was now 
for me, but she could not help me much. 


96 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


One rainy evening, as I was walking leisurely 
down the street, wrapped in a huge mackintosh and 
holding a mammoth umbrella over me, I saw I was 
nearing Henrietta’s home,- so looking up suddenly 
I saw her at the bay window. She appeared as if 
she had been crying, but a bright smile played on 
her lips when she saw me. I threw her a kiss 
which was promptly returned; but in another mo- 
ment I noticed that she was gone. At first I did not 
think what was the matter, but a second thought 
convinced me that she was being watched and was 
about to be caught up with. There I stood in the 
rain, bewildered. I saw the window curtain of her 
own beautiful room glide noiselessly upward, and 
beneath stood the one dear object of my love and 
ambition. She knew the handkerchief flirtation, so 
I gave the desired motion, and we had a pleasant 
conversation, but it would have been far pleasanter 
if we could have communicated by the tongue and 
not by signs. I waved her a good-by. 

Part of the conversation was concerning my get- 
ting to see her. I arranged to meet her that very 
night, and nowhere but under the eaves of her own 
room. We could not write, for at that time her father 
saw all her mail. 

At a little after seven o’clock I went and got be- 
hind a large oAk in front of her home. I had a hand- 
kerchief which was filled with phosphorus. I waved 
it again and again, and was about to give up all, even 
hope, when I was finally answered. I telegraphed 
to her, “Is all well?” and “All is well” came back. 

Handkerchief flirtation, or telegraphy, was a grand 
thing for me. Henrietta and I had only learned it 


HOW THE THREE MONTHS WERE SPENT. 


97 


for a pastime. It was a novel thing; few understood 
it; it could be used at any time, day or night, with- 
out danger, for we had an antidote for destroying the 
power of the phosphorus. I had learned it from an 
Indian servant we once had; I taught Henrietta, and 
we became experts. You know it takes two to make 
perfection; at least I thought it was that way. 

Well, back to the main subject we go. I man- 
aged to climb a paling fence without tearing my 
trousers but once or twice, and, thanks to Cupid, I 
was soon at the window talking to my own intended 
darling. She had much to tell me, and I had a long 
talk for her, but you know we could not do all this 
in so short a time. 

She said: “I have such a hard time, darling; but 
you are not the cause of it, as father says you are. 
My dearest one, I know you are true to me. I am 
certainly true to you, but under these circumstances 
it does not appear so. Let me assure you that you 
are far more welcome to come to see me than Glypse. 
I fairly hate him. Father has prejudiced me against 
him by doing as he has done.” 

I told her to throw a damxjer over Glypse by not 
talking of me when he brought up the subject; to 
turn it into something else. I also said: “Do not 
mention my name to him, or to your father, except 
in praise or commendation. Does Glypse ever say 
anything about me, darling?” 

“Oh, yes, very often; he derides you nearly all 
the time, and tries to set me against you; but I will 
never, no, never, be so influenced.” 

I softly said: “ ‘ Castolina,’ I thought you were not 
liking me as you should, but you have explained 
7 


98 


A YEAR WITH UXCLE JACK. 


it all satisfactorily; and now, my dearest one, it is 
growing late, and we mnst separate for the present” 

She silently consented, and I said farewell and 
started back to Uncle Jack’s. I did not climb the 
fence, but went around. That visit was piobaUy 
the last for some time. I studied hard at school 
and was to complete my course in three more weeks, 
a month earlier than I had anticipated. I was io 
graduate in bookkeeping and banking. The First 
Nat ional Bank of Ledger wood had already spoken 
for a graduate, and I stood a good chance of getting 
the position. The test was an examinatioiL As luck 
would have it, I received the highest grade and was 
awarded the place. But this was a secret; I was to 
tell no one of it The reason I never knew. I was 
going into the bank on the first of October as book- 
keeper and cashier, with a salary of sixty dollars 
per month, to be increased if I proved satisfactoiy. 

I had closed my schooldays — in the schoolroom, I 
mean, for you know no one ever gets too old to 
learn” I went on a grand fishing and hunting ex- 
cursion with a party of friends the last of August 
and such a good, jolly time we did have ! We were 
all boys, and each took his turn at cooking. We 
were to stay three or four weeks, and I believe we 
had provisions to last a year. 

It finally came my time to cook. Everybody had 
gone from the camp except myself and a small negro 
boy who was to help me cook and do litde chores 
such as cutting wood, keeping up fires, and bringing 
water; but I wanted him more for company than 
for anything else. 

I thought 1 would cook some rice; so I got a gallon 


HOW THE THBEE MONTHS WEBE SPENT. 


99 


of the grain and put it in a vessel containing about 
two gallons of water. It soon began to bubble and 
simmer, and finally to boil I noticed that the rice 
began to fill the vessel to its utmost capacity, and 
charged the colored boy with putting in more rice, but 
he stoutly denied it, I had never seen rice cooked. 
It began to boil over. I took about half of it out, 
half done, but it still boiled over. I kept taking it 
out, and soon had all the available jars, vessels, and 
even the coffee pot full, and yet there was more than 
I had put in. So we had rice, you see. 

I had not noticed the negro boy for some time; I 
was busy attending to the rice, and had quite forgot- 
ten him. I heard a scream, and looking out of the 
camp I beheld the funniest sight I had ever seen in 
my life. The boy had a large ten-pound turtle in 
his hand, but the turtle had the negro’s toe in his 
mouth! I lay down upon the ground and rolled with 
laughter until I was faint. The negro was scream- 
ing at the top of his voice: “O, Lawd! Mars Cartier, 
cum take dis ole debbil off o’ my foot; he am killin’ 
me! O, Lawd! Mars Cartier, if you wus in my fix 
an’ I wus in your’n, I’d not laff at you. O, Lawd ! 
O, Lawd! [louder] O, Lawd! ! I can’t stan’ it ’nuth- 
er minit! Cum, Mars Cartier, cum! I run off, but I 
won’I agin; I’se so sorry. Pleas’ cam an’ take him 
off.” 

“What is the matter, Fred?” (for that was his 
name) said I; “is he hurting you?” 

I turned to get the ax, and saw the negro fall over. 
I hurried to him, and there he lay on his back, his 
great black eyes dancing in his head and his tongue 
out. With one stroke I severed the turtle from the 


100 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


boy’s toe, and such a glad darky I never saw. I 
could hardly keep him off me, he was so glad. 

The turtle proved to be a fine specimen of the 
green, edible kind. I cleaned it, and the negro, Fred, 
prepared it for dinner. He was not hurt much, but 
the turtle hung on to the toe of that boy until the 
old saying came true, “A turtle will hold on till it 
thunders.” 

I had dinner prepared, and was resting and wait- 
ing for the fishermen and hunters to come. They 
must be having success, I thought. Well, a rumbling 
noise in the west warned me that it was going to 
rain; that would drive them in, and also drive the 
turtle’s head from the boy’s toe. True to prediction, 
all the boys came up heavily laden with fish and ven- 
ison. They had a hearty laugh when I told them of 
the negro’s adventure; and about that time the tur- 
tle’s head came off. 

Well, after dinner some of the boys began to look 
around and saw the rice. One said : Cartier, you 
are a good cook, but I declare you have cooked 
enough rice to feed an army ! ” I had to cook supper. 
Some of the boys said, ‘‘Look here, Cartier, don’t 
cook as much biscuit as you did rice ” ; for I was 
making up my first batch of dough. I put in more 
grease than flour, and a great deal of saleratus. 

Well, I put the mixture in the stove, for we had a 
regular kitchen outfit. After a little while I looked 
at the biscuits, and the sight was funny enough to 
make a hungry man laugh. They were swimming 
around in the grease, each biscuit about the size of 
a thimble. 

Supper was soon ready, but there were not enough 


Sow TfiE THREE MONTHS WERE SPENT. 101 

biscuits (they were so good, I guess; but it may 
have been they were so small), so I had to make 
some more; but I never put any grease in them. 
All the boys said, ‘‘ They are the best we have ever 
eaten.” 

My cooking was a failure, and it would have taken 
a man as rich as Jay Gould to provide enough flour 
for me; so said one of my witty companions. 

Days swiftly passed, and it was time for us to go 
back to Ledgerwood. We had had fun, success, and, 
I am sorry to say, a failure in cooking for my part; 
but we had fattened up considerably. 

The rest of the three months I spent in the bank 
at Lincoln, and in recreation. 


CHAPTER XX. 

The Pkoposal. 

We reached home without an accident or incident. 
I had another month to spend in recreation before my 
time to go into business. 

I thought I would tarry at Lincoln, my home, a 
few days. I went, and had to walk from Chester- 
field. I took the home folks by surprise, and they 
were surely glad to see their oldest son, who had 
grown a great deal and looked so much better than 
he did when he left home. All of my old friends 
came to see me, and I enjoyed myself finely those 
few days of September. I spent much of my time 
in riding around in buggies with girls, but I had not 
forgotten the one at Ledgerwood; and such a time I 
had! 

I had not seen or heard of Henrietta in two 
months. She would surely think I was not true to 
her. I told her that night by the window that if I 
ever wrote I would address her letter to the colored 
cook. I wondered what her father and Glypse had 
gotten her to believe about my not being true. I 
feared that Glypse was trying to get a chance of 
“popping” the matrimonial question to her, and if 
this should be done, her father would force her to 
marry him. I had never thought of this before. 
Things were growing desperate, and I must do some- 
thing, and do it quickly. So I wrote her thus: 

Lincoln, September 22, 18 — . 

My Darling Castolina^\‘ You will doubtless think I am not 


THE PKOPOSAL. 


103 


true ; but, darling, I am as ever true. The reason I went off 
from Ledgerwood was, I wanted to have some recreation. I 
first went to the Sabine Lakes— you have heard of them — on a 
fishing and hunting excursion. We had a fine time, and had 
plenty of game. I will tell you all when I see you. Next I 
came to see my parents. You will forgive me, I know ; I do 
not see any material wrong in doing so. My own little darling, 
I have had awful misgivings for the past few days: I thought 
Glypse had knocked me clear out, and that your father was try- 
ing to force you to marry him. I hope it is not true; but if it 
is, do not do it, my darling. I want to see you before long, and 
we will settle the question of our lives. You catch the idea, do 
you not? Well, if you do not, I will make it plain. I want to 
marry you — not now, no, not now, but at some future day. 
Will you be mine? Make the engagement to your devoted 
Will. I love you very dearly, and can never stand to see you 
forced into something distasteful to you. You are lieadstrong, 
and I know you will have your way if you can. Now, dearest 
one, answer soon, and end this suspense, for I am almost dying 
to see you. Inclosed find kisses for my darling Henrietta. 

Yours, and always will be, T. W. Cartier. 

P. S. — Write my address, John 0. Annery. He is our gar- 
dener. Answer soon.' Will. 

I hurried to the office and mailed the letter. The 
little artifice that I tried to work on Glyijse failed, as 
you have already seen. 

It was Sunday morning. I was gloomy, yet the 
cool breezes of autumn seemed to refresh me, and 
the day was glorious. The sun seemed in the zenith 
of his power when I awoke. I felt dull and languid, 
and could not shake off the threatening doom which 
apparently hung unseen around my head. I ate 
breakfast with but little relish, and then retired to 
the parlor and lay upon a sofa, where I soon fell 
asleep. After some time — how long I know not — I 
awoke, feeling better. 


104 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


Father was at home that day, for his appointment 
was in Lincoln then. After dinner he began quiz- 
zing me and asking questions. I answered the most 
important ones and evaded all that referred to girls. 
I would not talk on that subject. I told him of all 
that had happened in Ledgerwood since I was there, 
excepting my courtship. 

I spent the night dreaming dreams that no mortal 
ever before dared to dream. I went hunting on 
Monday and stayed out all day, but did not have 
much success. I got mad at my dog and charged 
him falsely with causing my failure at hunting. I 
made up my mind that I would kill him — he was of 
no use; so up went my gun to my shoulder and I 
fired at him. He ran away yelping on three legs. 

I wandered around for some time, and bagged two 
fox squirrels. Finally I got lost; I could not find 
my way home. I tramped around in a circle, just 
like all lost people, for some time.. At last I grew 
tired and hungry — down I sat. I gave up all hope 
of again reaching a familiar place that day. The 
dog, poor fellow, came to me whining so piteously 
that I felt as if I wanted to kill myself. I arose, 
and he led the way. We got home a little after dark, 
and you may rest assured that that dog never suf- 
fered again by me. 

Early Tuesday morning I went to the post office; 
there was a letter for our gardener, sure enough. I 
had told him of it, and he did not care at all. Ea- 
gerly I opened the envelope and read: 

Ledgerwood, September 23, 18 — . 

My Dear Tom: I received your sweet little missive last 
night, and oh ! I was so glad to hear from you. I told mamma 
all about our affair. She is in favor of you. Do not bother 


PilOfOSAL. 


105 


yourself, for she will not tell father ; but she does not think you 
are true to me because you have not come to see me often. I 
told her that you had had no chance. Mamma said: “I am 
afraid you are going to let that fellow fool you ; he will take 
some other girl who has not treated him as you have done. 
But I replied that you had told me of your love so often, and 
that you were so honest — yes, honest as ever a boy was ; and 
now, my dear boy, I want you to come to see her and tell her 
yourself; come and tell her that soon I shall be your loving 
bride ; tell her all, my precious Tom. I long to see the day 
when you will come. How much longer, oh, how much longer 
will it be till that blessed day comes that will make us forever 
one! It almost crazes me at times to think the day is so far 
off. I would be happy to know it was to-morrow, but it is not 
so; oh, so long, so long! Mamma says you are putting me off, 
but I know that you are true to me, love. You are as free 
from deception as an angel in heaven ; I know you are ; yes, 
my Tom, I know you are. Of course you are not going back” 
on me and break my heart; for it is not of stone, but melts at 
one look into your sparkling, innocent eyes. 

Mamma says I am grieving myself to death about you ; but 
I tell her that the time of grieving will soon be over; for when 
I am yours of course there will not be any more grief or sor- 
row in my heart than there is in heaven. I often think of the 
time when we will sit in our own little cottage by the sea, per- 
haps. We will be the happiest couple that ever wedded, and 
we will talk only of love while sitting around our humble home 
— you on the steps and I in the door. Oh, such a happy life 
we will live! And mamma can come to see us, and I will tell 
her that you were always true to me. 

I must close my letter. I hope to hear from you soon in 
one of your long, delightful letters, and I want you to come 
and talk with my mamma. Be sure to come when you get 
back from Lincoln; but you had better write and tell when 
you are coming, so I can kill a “ fatted fowl.” I know you love 
“ fowl,” because your father is a Methodist preacher, and you 
are a Methodist too. 

I am true, Tom. I call you Tom because I like that name 
best. AVill sounds all right, but Tom suits you better, I think. 
So good-by for this time, my own dear Tom. 


106 


A YEAB WITH UNCLE JACK. 


^ I remain as ever your sweetheart, and hope soon to be your 
blushing bride, Henrietta Seaguards. 

I knew she would answer. I was no longer stuj)id, 
for her letter sent a thrill of animation through me, 
imbued me with new strength, and put the stamina 
of endurance as a foundation in me. I loved her 
better than my own life. 

It was now time for me to return to Ledgerwood. 
On Wednesday I went back, but before I started I 
sent Henrietta a telegram, in care of a friend of 
mine, saying that I would take dinner with her on 
Sunday. 

As the first of October came on Sunday, I was no- 
tified to be at the bank early Monday morning, just 
as soon as I had gotten there. It was in the two 
evening papers. 

I took dinner with Henrietta. The farmer w^as not 
so bad after all; he seemed in favor of me when he 
found out how I stood, but he said I would squan- 
der all I made. I had a long conversation with 
Henrietta’s mother, and a still longer one with Hen- 
rietta. I left very abruptly, and went to get myself 
in readiness for the bank. 


CHAPTER XXL 

In Business. 

Early Monday morning I was at the bank, and my 
business qualifications were soon brought into use. 

As I passed the post office that evening the iiost- 
master handed me a letter. It bore the postmark of 
Lincoln. I broke it open and leisurely read: 

At Home, Lincoln, October 1, 18 — . 

T. W. Cartier — Dear Son: I am aware that you have secured 
a good position. The best money saver is a good wife. You 
are young; but if you love, marry. I would not have you 
marry one you do not love. Henrietta has written and told 
me all. Go ahead. God bless you, my noble boy! May suc- 
cess attend you, and may you make rapid strides toward fame 
and fortune 1 

I am your loving father, A. B. Cartier. 

The old farmer had had a hint of my wanting to 
marry his daughter, so he kept a strict watch over 
her. 

A week soon passed. I met with flattering success 
at the bank, and had the esteem of the older heads. 
The president, A. C. Meirs, treated me better than 
most of fathers would have treated their sons. I 
told him of my plan to marry; he replied : “You 
are right, my son; you are young, but you have the 
experience I have never seen in men of twenty-five 
or thirty years. With a wife you could live cheaper 
and enjoy yourself better. I married young; I was 
about your age, but I have never regretted the step. 


108 A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 

and never shall. I do not think you would either. 
My son, this is my advice; take it just to suit your- 
self. You and your wife could easily live on sixty 
.dollars per month; but, pray, who are you thinking 
of marrying?” 

I told him. 

“Eh! yes, she will do. I have known her all her 
life. She has been rather too much of a hoiden, 
but girls must have their fun; and Henrietta will 
make you a wife w^orthy of all praise. But, my son, 
I hear that some one else is more likely to be the 
farmer’s son-in-law than you are; it is Glypse War- 
nerk.” 

“Oh, yes,” said I; “and the farmer has favored 
him all along; but, Mr. Meirs, I have the girl and 
her mother on my side; is not that better than all 
fathers?” 

“ Oh, yes, but I hear he is going to force her into 
marrying Glypse,” said the president. 

Our little conversation was suddenly interrupted 
by the farmer himself, who had come to deposit a 
pretty snug sum in the bank. His presence at the 
bank made me apprehensive. Hid he come just to 
test me? I knew he would try to cheat me just for 
fun, or call my attention to some mistake. I depos- 
ited the money and gave him a receipt for it. I gave 
him no chance to fool me, but I fooled him. I asked 
him to change a ten; he said, “All right,” but wdien 
he handed me the change it lacked some of being 
enough. I saw him wink at one of the clerks. How 
came he to visit the bank just as we were talking? 
But it was fulfilling the adage, “ Speak of Old Nick 
and his imp will appear.” Was that right? I do 


IN BUSINESS. 


109 


not know. I had been noticing that he seemed to 
watch me very closely; it may not have been so, but 
it looked that way. 

After he had gone awhile I decked out one of the 
clerks in policeman’s regalia. I directed him how to 
act, and he did just as I ordered; he afterwards told 
me about it. He went to the old farmer and said: 
“ Mr. Seaguards, did you not keep back some of the 
change at the bank a few minutes ago?” 

“ Oh, no, my man, I did not. How dare you sus- 
pect me of such a crime? ” 

“ Come, I arrest you anyhow; it is my duty to it.” 

“Let me off; I’ll give you the money back,” said 
the farmer. 

“ I will let you off* if you will come to the bank 
this hour.” 

“All right, I will be there,” said he. 

At the appointed time the farmer came in, gave me 
the money, and said: “ Mr. Cartier, I beg your pardon 
for having treated you so. 1 meant it only as a joke; 
I hope you took it as such.” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Seaguards,” I said; “I know you 
like joking, and so do I. I only had a clerk dressed 
in police uniform, and had him use you as a dupe. 
I did not care for the money at all; but you had 
come in to fool me, and got the tables turned on 
yourself. I think it rather funny. I knew all the 
time why you came here. You wanted to see if I 
had the strict business-like way of doing things; and 
I have. Mr. Seaguards, I hope you are not offended 
in the least. Let’s have a good laugh, and let it 
pass. Come, have some ginger pop?” 

“All is well. I am at your laughing; it was only 


110 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


a joke. I glory in your way of doing business, for 
success will surely be yours if you continue to do as 
you are doing.” 

He went out a more thoughtful man, I hope, than 
when he first came in; but I noticed that he acted in 
a choleric manner, and looked as if he would like to 
get even with me. But I was in business, and was 
going to carry out the rules of the bank to my ut- 
most ability. 

October passed, and the chilly winds of Novem- 
ber shrieked in a direful dirge. Winter had set 
in early. On Thursday of the first week I received 
a neat envelope bearing the address card of Mr. Sea- 
guards. I thought it was from Henrietta, but it 
proved to be from the old farmer. I opened it and 
read: 

At Home, Thursday. 

Mr. T. W. Cartier— Dmr Friend: As you are my friend, I 
presume it my duty to apprise you of the fact that my daugh- 
ter is to marry. Mr. Glypse Warnerk is the fortunate man. 
Now, Mr. Cartier, I want you to come and be a witness to the 
affair. I wish you were the one to get her, and as it is I am 
sorry. Come, the wedding will be Friday afternoon at four 
o’clock. I do not want a public concern to be made of it, and 
I trust you will noi. betray the secret. 

Yours, G. A. Seaguards. 

Would I go? I would ponder over the question 
and the invitation. I saw what the old farmer was 
driving at: he wanted to see my mortification, and 
then mock me to my face; or maybe he would have 
my rival to assassinate me if I made a false step. I 
did not know what to do. I must see my darling, 
and that quickly. 

Luckily Henrietta came to my rescue. That even- 
ing I received a letter from her. I read: 


IN BUSINESS. 


Ill 


Dearest Tom : I am aware that father has sent you a card 
telling you that I am to be married. I shall never marry if I 
have to be forced into it. Father is trying to force me into mar- 
rying Glypse. You know how I fear not to obey father. Some- 
thing must be done. Oh, the life I am living! I cannot get 
out to see anyone for father; and if I marry Glypse I will fare 
worse, and I never will be happy again. I never did want to 
marry a drunkard, and I never shall if I can help myself. 

Darling, you must come and help me. 1 have a plan to fool 
them. You come, and when the magistrate says, ‘ Does anyone 
here object to this couple marrying?’ etc., you arise and say 
you object. If they ask for your objections, tell them all about 
it. Tell them you have my consent in writing, and tlsat I was 
forced into the contract with your rival, and not a word have 
I written him. 

But, my dearest boy, you had better prepare yourself for 
some emergency, for Glypse will try to slay you on the spot if 
you do this, for you know his way, and perhaps he may be 
drunk. O, darling! I can never have anyone for a husband 
but you; I love no other but you. Come, do not fail; for nTy 
life will surely be blighted if you do not come. I am so very 
sad ; I wish you were here to cheer me. An unjust father and 
a drunken lover nearly distract me; but I know I have another 
whom I can trust. Oh, do not break off from me and think 
me untrue, for I idolize you, my love and my future husband. 
Farewell till Friday. 

Your own darling, “ Castolina.” 

Was she in the plot too? I would go anyhow. 
I could not bear to see her forced to marry a drunk- 
en wretch. I was sorry for her; I knew she suffered 
there — a perfect slave, worse than a dog. I would 
go; I could not stay away. I would try to outwit her 
father. So I answered both of them, saying that I 
would be there promptly and surely. 


CHAPTER XXll. 

At the Wedding. 

I WAITED with impatience for Friday evening to 
come. At last it rolled around. I prepared myself 
so that I would not get hurt if Glypse offered to 
fight me. I put on a thick breastplate under my 
evening attire, and armed myself with a good re- 
volver. I was not going to commence any difficulty 
that might happen, but it was well to be on one’s 
guard in such a place on such an occasion. 

1 found Henrietta away, and her father and 
Glypse drunk. Her father and 1 were the witnesses. 
When the magistrate called them all up for the cere- 
mony my heart began to flutter, and a feeling of 
madness rose in my bosom. But I must control my- 
self. 

‘‘If there are any persons here who object to this 
couple being married, let them say so; and if not, 
let them forever hereafter hold their peace.” These 
words had hardly died upon the lips of the justice 
when I stepped out in the middle of the room and 
said, in a serene voice: “I object.” 

The old farmer turned deadly pale, and Glypse 
trembled visibly. 

The justice said: “Mr. Cartier, state your objec- 
tions; and if they are true and you can substantiate 
them, I will not perform the ceremony; but if you 
cannot, I will proceed,” 


AT THE WEDDlNa 


113 


I said: “I object, first, because this girl does not 
want to marry that man, and her father has forced 
her to consent against her will; second, I object to 
this marriage because I have her consent, in writing, 
to marry me. If these objections will not do, I can 
present others.” 

I showed him the letter; he read it with care, and 
asked Henrietta if she had written it. 

Yes, sir, I did,” said Henrietta. 

“Well, friends, I cannot proceed with the cere- 
mony, for this young man has objected and proved 
his objections; so good-night,” said the justice, and 
out of the room he walked. 

“You lied, you scoundrel! I’ll kill you on the 
spot! I never did it; prove it, if you can,” said 
Glypse. 

“ I have done it already. I do not wish any fight — 
in here at least; but I will ‘do you up’ if you will 
just be so kind as to step out of the house. I will 
see you later. I do not, as a gentleman, take such 
insults as you have uttered. You are afraid to face 
me,” I said, with my voice slightly raised, my eyes 
dancing like fire, and my anger growing fiercer. 

He became furious, and stepped toward me, with a 
revolver in his hand, cursing me with the vilest of 
oaths. 

I said: “Stop, do not come farther, or I will 
knock you down.” 

“Down me! You — why — you — eh! You can’t do 
anything. Say another word and you’ll get cold 
lead,” said my irate rival. 

The farmer stepped between us, and I thought he 
was going to take the other fellow’s part, but he 
8 


114 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


said: ‘‘Don’t have any trouble here, please; this is 
no — ” 

“ Let him say another word and he will have to 
try me. The low-down cur is afraid.” 

“I am not afraid of you, you rascal!” 

“Bang! bang!” I was shot, and fell to my knees. 
I was not hurt, for the bullet of no ordinary re- 
volver could penetrate the breastplate that I wore. 

I raised myself to a sitting posture, and began an- 
swering my rival’s gun. “Bang! bang! bang!” 
Glypse fell heavily to the floor. The farmer was 
crying “Murder! murder!” at the top of his voice. 

I had not gotten up from my sitting position, and 
I saw the farmer making at me with a huge knife. 
How its long, keen blade glittered in the weird light 
and suffocating smoke ! I snapped my revolver at 
him twice before I thought, but it would not go off. 
He was closing on me, and I must do something. I 
hated to strike an old man, but I saw my life w^as in 
jeopardy; so, with a superhuman effort I raised my 
cane and dealt him a terrible blow on the head, and 
he fell. 

I rushed out of the room, for I was getting tired 
of such sport. I felt hot, and when I put my hand 
to my face and removed it, there w^as blood upon it. 
Had I been shot or stabbed without knowdng it? I 
went into another room and got a lamp and saw that 
I was shot. I was not badly wounded, for the bullet 
hit the breastplate and glanced upward, striking my 
face. 

I began to look for Henrietta, and found her in 
her room; she had fainted, but I soon revived her. 
The farmer had taken every advantage, for all were 


AT THE WEDDING. 


116 


gone from home save himself and Henrietta. I bade 
‘‘Castolina” follow me. We went to the home of 
Mr. Meirs. He took us in and treated us with pa- 
rental hospitality. 

I went to the police headquarters and gave myself 
up. I made a small bond for my appearance when 
wanted. The news of the tragedy spread like wild- 
fire. Nearly all the people approved my act when 
they found how it was. The papers did not suffer 
for want of news. 

The farmer and Glypse were not hurt fatally, but 
the latter seriously. The farmer had a wound on his 
head, and several bandages were required for him. 
Glypse was shot in three places, once in the shoulder 
and twice in the arm. I went to see them next day. 
I apologized to Glypse, telling him I was sorry the 
affray had happened, and that he would have done as 
I did. He accepted my apologies, but wanted to 
know why I was not killed, or wounded in the 
breast, for he had seen the bullet strike my bosom. 
I replied that I was doing right and he was not, and, 
besides all this, I was “ charmed ” so that no human 
hurt could befall me. 

Glypse asked me if I would prosecute him. I told 
him no, if he would leave the town, or die, I would 
not do anything, but for him never to attack me again. 
I then left him and went back to the bank. 

The next question was. Where shall Henrietta 
stay? I was not ready to marry yet. She could not 
stay at Uncle Jack’s, for they were already crowded, 
and Aunt Susien had gone back home; Henrietta 
did not like the other girls much. She could not stay 
at home; at least, I did not want her to. I would get 


116 


A YEAE WITH UNCLE JACK. 


her a room at Mr. Meirs’s until Christmas. There 
was but one girl there, and she was an invalid. I 
knew my little “Castolina” would like to stay there. 
All that wealth could afford was in the Meirs man- 
sion. She could not help but like to stay. 

I worked faithfully at the bank, and my wages were 
increased. I had saved some money, and put my rival 
out of the way for the time being. I need not court 
any longer. I had not done much at courtship, it is 
true, but enough to win the fairest girl among ten 
thousand and the most lovely of all. Her charms 
outrivaled those of the water nymphs, and the beau- 
tiful lilies must have envied her exquisite complex- 
ion. I had had a hard time getting her. Just think 
of it ! I had been discarded twice; let my rival find 
me napping and outwit me; ran the risk of being 
caught by climbing to her window; let a horse run 
away with us and almost kill her; went to her mar- 
riage and “ knocked it in the head ” by shooting her 
lover and splintering my cane upon her father’s head; 
and now a trial for assault. Yes, I had had trouble 
in getting her; but I was fully compensated for all 
that, and yet I did not have her — only her promise, 
but that was good. 

Glypse did not want to push the matter any fur- 
ther, but through the persuasion of his friend he did 
so, and I had a trial on my hands. Henrietta’s fa- 
ther did not believe my objections were true, and he 
had me arraigned for alienation of her affections, 
and she was sued for a breach of promise. What 
absurd charges! I was the one to bring charges, but 
I find that the less you have to do with courts the 
better off you are. And it is curious to me that 


AT THE WEDDING. 


117 


some people who always get the “ little end of the 
horn” in everything keep on till they are all but 
annihilated. Such a pitiful sight was presented by 
these two men — drunkards. Never be a drunkard, 
young man; never marry a drunkard, young woman. 

The trial was set for the following week. I was 
ready for it, and employed the ablest lawyer at the 
bar. I knew we would win the case. The day came 
and my case was called. The lawyer for the farmer 
and Glypse made an able defense, but I won. Hen- 
rietta also in her trial won after reproducing all our 
letters and little talks, and pi’oving them. Lawyers, 
clients, and the people in general heard all with ea- 
gerness, and I thought it sounded like a wonderful 
romance. Henrietta told the story from beginning 
to end with such trueness that she could not fail of 
a favorable decision. 

We went to her room at the Meirs mansion, and 
she and T had a long conversation. Our wedding 
was set for Christmas-eve night. I would have a 
grand Christmas present, would I not? All came 
true as I had said, and time sped along. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

A Long-looked-for Event. 

December had been ushered in. I had bought me 
a little cottage in the suburbs of Ledgerwood. It 
was a beautif al brown-coloied little house, with bay 
windows in front and containing four rooms. I had 
it furnished with everything necessary for young be- 
ginners in housekeeping. 

I wrote father, telling him all the happenings of 
the past month. I requested him to send my sun- 
dries, and they came all right the very next week, 
with a long letter from him. He had read of the 
scrape I had gotten into as reported in the Morning 
Chronicle, a paper printed at Ledgerwood. It gave a 
fair description of the whole occurrence, and had 
the portraits of the partici]pants. The account was 
newsy, interesting, and yet it was not exaggerated in 
the least, if it did seem thrilling, rare, and funny. 

The days and weeks passed before we knew it. It 
was Christmas eve. A slight snow had fallen, but it 
was clear overhead; a shrill north wind was blowing, 
nevertheless it was not so disagreeable that we could 
not go to church. I had always wanted to marry in 
a church. Dr. Bone was to ofBciate. 

The last bell rang when Henrietta and I entered. 
,We were greeted with smiles and whispers of wel- 
come. I thought Henrietta was lovelier then than 
on any other occasion that I could recall. She wore 
a pink silk waist, with a dark gray velvet skirt; 


A LONG-LOOKED-FOR EVENT. 


119 


a small bunch of geraniums adorned her head; a 
spray of chrysanthemums drooped at her bosom; a 
pink Neapolitan coral chain graced her neck, and a 
pair of fine gold bracelets clasped her beautiful 
arms. 

The maids and gentlemen of honor were Antonina 
Burch, Delia Dork, James Burch, and Tybott Hays. 
The maids were our best lady friends, the gentlemen 
the worthiest in Ledgerwood and our truest male 
friends. 

“Will you please join hands, my dear young 
friends?” said Dr. Bone, “and I will go through the 
ceremony; but, first, does anyone here know any just 
cause why these two persons should not be joined in 
holy wedlock ? ” Silence reigned supreme. “ If not,” 
said the minister, pausing to get breath, “let him 
forever hold his peace.” No one had said anything. 
Dr. Bone then proceeded with the ceremony that 
made Henrietta and me forever one. He took the 
ring which I had provided as a wedding gift for 
Henrietta, and placed it on the forefinger of her left 
hand, with words suitable to the occasion. Numer- 
ous were the congratulations and good wishes spo- 
ken to us. 

We received several beautiful and useful presents. 
A large, neat bureau, with mirror on top, was the 
gift of Mr. and Mrs. Meirs. Uncle Jack and Aunt 
Lydia gave us an elegant tea service. Henrietta’s 
mother gave a nice water set. Other presents were re- 
ceived from persons whom we did not know; among 
these were a bicycle for each of us; a nice watch, 
chain, and ring for Henrietta; a typewriter, a fine 
suit of Prince Albert clothes, a mustache cup and 


120 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


saucer for me. I had no mustache, and did not 
need any clothes — a joke, I guess. 

We then went to the Meirs mansion with our 
friends, and partook of the infair supper, which was 
indeed a feast of things beautiful and good. We 
stayed there that night, and were to take Christmas 
dinner at Uncle Jack’s. I can now say that I have 
realized the yearnings of my heart for the last few 
months, and have captured my ‘‘ all in all.” 

Dinner was taken at Uncle Jack’s, after which we 
strolled out to see our future home. Henrietta seemed 
to be well pleased with the cozy little brown house, and 
was surprised to see it furnished and ready for us to 
move into on the following day. I possessed a charm- 
ing wife, a pleasant cottage, and drew a snug salary 
that could easily support us two. The height of my 
ambition was reached. I longed for nothing else. 
We were happy, and always agreed. 

W^e occupied our new home the next day. Hap- 
piness was our motto, and we lived up to it to the 
best of our ability. We were serenaded the first 
night. The music was rendered by select perform- 
ers with the best of instruments, and the serenade 
was delightful. We enjoyed the surprise greatly. I 
went to the door and invited the company in. When 
they had played a number of selections, my wife w^as 
asked to favor them with some music, as she was an 
expert pianist. “We have no piano,” said I. “No 
piano!” said they; “what is that?” pointing to a 
covered box or something. I examined it, and sure 
enough it was a piano; but where did it come from, 
who bought it, and when? I did not know until I 
saw on it, “ From your father and mother.” How it 


A LONG-LOOKED-FOR EVENT. 


121 


got there was a mystery to me, and still is. My 
wife complied with their request, of course. 

We soon drifted into conversation. The crowd 
consisted of seven boys and seven girls. They found 
that I was gifted in story telling, and I had to sit 
for at least two hours and tell stories. They would 
give me a song every time I finished a story. It 
grew late, and after playing Godbey’s ‘‘ Good-night ” 
they departed. 

It was now holiday time, and the bank was closed. 
Henrietta and I took the next train for my father’s 
home in Lincoln. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Honeymoon. 

We took the nine o’clock train the next morning. I 
suddenly remembered that about a year ago I had 
ridden ou the same train for a visit to Uncle Jack’s. 
I never dreamed of such a thing as marrying before 
the year was out. 

After we had started I went to the rear coach; 
Henrietta followed me. There we found sister Lula, 
cousins Ethel, Mamie, and Tom, all on their way 
home. 

‘‘How have you all enjoyed your year’s visit, chil- 
dren?” I asked; “have you fulfilled your parents’ 
wishes? ” 

“ Oh, to me the visit has been fine, and I enjoyed 
it ever so much,” said Cousin Mamie; “but I never 
thought of staying a year at Uncle Jack’s, and 
going to school. Cousin Will. I have nearly com- 
pleted the studies of art and music; one more ses- 
sion will enable me to finish. I also, like you, have 
tested courtship. James Burch has been my ardent 
admirer for the past year. We have had plenty of 
ups and downs, to be sure. But you know I did not 
want to do as you did — marry without first knowing 
that I could succeed, and make it as successful as 
you have done. You are aware that Mr. Burch, the 
individual banker of Ledgerwood, does not sanction 
his son’s attention to me. I know not why, but I 
have my ideas concerning the matter: he does not 


THE HONEYMOON. 


123 


want his son to select a homely girl, who has no for- 
tune and does not expect to have one soon; he can- 
not see any commendable traits of character that a 
country lass has. I am not boasting, but using my- 
self as an example of such. Where are you going, 
cousins Will and Henrietta? To Uncle Abe’s [my 
father]?” 

“Oh, no,” said I, “not exactly; we shall only stay 
there to-night, then go to the capital of the state, 
thence to the Montana Falls and Chalybeate Springs, 
and back to the Sabine Lakes, where I went on that 
fishing excursion, and then to Ledgerwood. What 
makes you so quiet. Little Ethel? Have you done 
anything of note?” 

“ Not much, but I mean to do much. I and Cous- 
in Lucy — or I should have said Cousin Lucy and I — 
are to be missionaries. We have studied the matter 
over, and when I am nineteen I am surely going. 
Would you not? ” 

“ Yes, if I felt it my duty to go, I would. I am 
glad that you are so willing to do something for the 
Master; but how old are you now?” 

“I will be sixteen in February. You know I was 
fourteen before I came to Uncle Jack’s, and I was 
fifteen in the February after I came in December.” 

The train had stopped, and cousins Mamie and 
Ethel had to get off. Uncle John Bell came in to 
help them off. He did not know any of us, and 
hardly knew his own children. I introduced him to 
Henrietta. 

“ Who is she, did you say ? ” 

“My wife. Uncle John. Did you not know I was 
married? ” 


124 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


“No, indeed; I never had thought of such a thing 
as that. I will say you have a worthy-looking wom- 
an. If she has as good a character as personal ap- 
pearance, you are to be proud of her,” said he. 

“Yes,” I replied, “but I had an ‘awful time’ get- 
ting her. You also have two young women who will 
be married before you know it.” 

“ Yes, but they are too young for that. Mamie is 
about nineteen, and Ethel is sixteen. Can’t you all 
go home with us? I am in a hurry and the train is 
about ready to start.” 

“No, Uncle John, we cannot go now. I will 
bring my wife to see you in the summer. June will 
do, will it not? ” 

“Yes; good-by — good-by, little woman,” said he, 
shaking “ Castolina’s ” hand. “Come; be sure you 
come. We will welcome you in our very best man- 
ner. So good-by,” and he bowed himself out. 

The train rolled on, fast and faster, and in an 
hour we were at Chesterville. Father was there, 
waiting for Lucy; he did not know that we were 
coming. His buggy would not hold half of us; so I 
hired a calash, and Henrietta, Cousin Tom, and I 
got in, and away we sped. We reached Lincoln be- 
fore father and Lucy did. I presented my wife to 
mother; they seemed to like each other on first ac- 
quaintance. Father and Lucy drove up. Night 
came and went; another day had dawned. 

We started for the capital of the state. It was 
seventy-five miles from Lincoln to “Briett” (the 
nickname of the capital). We arrived there about 
one o’clock p.m. We went to a hotel and took din- 
ner, after which we visited the three parks; these 


THE HONEYMOON. 


125 


were not very attractive, but for the season of the 
year they looked well enough. The North Central 
was the most beautiful of the three; in it was a 
large pool of water that was frozen almost solid. 
Henrietta and I bought a pair of skates each, and 
tried our skill upon the ice. I fell and broke my nose, 
and Henrietta slipped frequently, but came off unhurt. 
After selling our skates to a burly Irishman, we went 
to the capital. It was a massive marble structure, 
with giant bay windows in front and huge doors that 
were open to all — a grand old building of a half 
century’s age, looking down from a high hill upon a 
fine, progressive city and a broad expanse of cul- 
tivated lands. 

Governor Briggs was a personal friend of my fa- 
ther’s; they were reared together, went to the same 
school, studied the same books, and played the same 
games. We called on him, and he was very glad to 
meet us and to know of us and our family. He 
urged us to spend the night with him. We accepted 
his kind invitation and went to his beautiful home. 
Our pleasant stay there can never be forgotten by 
either Henrietta or myself. 

After settling our bill at the hotel, we took the 
train for the Mountain Falls, and arrived there at 
precisely three o’clock p.m. We did not get to see 
the falls that evening, but contented ourselves with 
the beautiful scenery — the tall, snow-capped mount- 
ains and the widespreading woods and fields and val- 
leys. The excellent table fare at the hotel, with the 
pure water and tonic air of the place, made one feel 
buoyant and happy. We spent the night in restful 
slumber, and next morning went to see the falls and 


126 A YEAB WITH UNCLE JACK. 

springs. The weather was intensely cold, but with 
the aid of rugs and muffs and greatcoats and mack- 
intoshes, we managed to keep warm. The great, 
high falls had frozen; we were beneath them, and a 
look upward at the colossal icicle filled one with awe. 
It stood back one hundred feet or more, and seemed 
to loom as if some gigantic monster were pulling at it. 
All this was caused by the tiny stream that still ran 
down the surface of the falls. This streamlet broke 
into a radiant silver spray — a scene of grandeur for 
the eye and of rapture for the soul. Nearly all of the 
giant icicle was as transparent as the clearest glass, 
and as lovely as the fairest flower. The spray would 
start from above and freeze long before it reached 
the base, and fall as dormant hail. One side of this 
ice-crystal monument was quite jagged, and, when 
the sun shone, it cast a gleam like the rays of the 
solar spectrum. 

I was beside myself with astonishment and awe. 
I feared that the mammoth piece of ice might sud- 
denly break loose and fall on some one; yet I was 
rapt in wonder at the be.auty of this master work of 
nature. We took a farewell glance at this “ beauty 
of beauties,” and then moved onward to a point where 
four different springs bubbled and sparkled within a 
radius of twenty-five feet. I took a drink from each 
spring. We returned to the hotel wiser and happier 
because of the things we had seen. 

We made the trip to Ledger wood by way of the 
Sabine Lakes. A whole day was spent traveling in 
a two-horse barouche, and yet we were not near Sa- 
bine — a small town on the Sabine Lakes. We had 
to find a place in which to stay all night. It had 


THE HONEYMOON. 


127 


begun to grow dusky, and the weather changed from 
a cold wind to a milder one, which brought on more 
snow. We were not going to despair if we did not 
find a stopping place. The bride said she enjoyed 
the novel situation, and had as soon continue in it as 
not. The horses were not very much fatigued, so we 
drove on; we soon reached the turnpike, and did 
not hesitate to go on to Sabine that night. The 
bride and I were not in a hurry, but we did not like 
the thought of spending the night with some mount- 
aineer. We traveled all night long. “Castolina” 
went to sleep and slept for some time. 

Sabine was reached early in the morning. Col- 
umns of smoke curled up from a few chimneys, but 
there were not many other signs of activity in the 
town. I bade our driver go to the nearest hotel; 
there we took breakfast, after which we went to our 
rooms and slept until the dinner hour. We awoke just 
in time for our share of the meal, for a large crowd 
of merrymakers had just returned to the hotel from 
the lakes. They reported a good time in the fore- 
noon, and expected better sport in the afternoon. 
Of course Henrietta and I would not miss that 
pleasure. 

I nearly finished my dinner, and yet all were not 
filled: those who had just arrived from the lakes had 
to dine, and nothing did the hotel cooks have pre- 
pared. I noticed they had chicken for dinner; and 
such tough chicken it was! I could not half chew 
it, much less eat it, but I did my part in trying. I 
was anxious to see what the other guests would get. 
Chickens, I guessed; and sure enough, chickens be- 
gan to squall. I rushed out in the back yard, and 


128 


A YEAH WITH UNCLE JACK. 


the old cook had three or four killed and about 
as many more ready to share the same fate. The 
very oldest chickens of the lot were chosen, vener- 
able roosters with spurs two inches long seemed to 
be the favorites. I wanted to know why these old 
fowls were used; not for economy surely, for the 
guests would reject such tough fare, and when they 
departed they would give the hotel a good “ blast- 
ing.” I could not see how the landlords held their 
patronage as well as they did. 

Well, that evening my pretty one and I went to 
the lakes, but we did not take any part in the exer- 
cises — save the laughter, in which we heartily joined; 
for many fell, and great was their fall. I never saw’ 
the like before — broken noses, bruised heads, blis- 
tered extremities, and cold bodies were the common 
fate. 

After having seen all this fun, we retired to the 
hotel for the night. Chicken was still served for 
every meal. 

Henrietta was tired of sight-seeing, and longed to 
see Ledgerwood ; so we prepared for the journey. 
I had to hire a conveyance. We finally started, and 
arrived at home late in the evening. 

One week of our honeymoon had passed; we were 
to spend the other part of it at home. We were 
happy, and seemed to get along with each other 
charmingly. I never dreamed of aught but this; I 
thought it would always be thus; but alas! as will 
be seen in the next chapter, it turned out otherwise. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Left. 

New-year had come, and I took my place at the 
bank soon after the honeymoon tour. I had much 
to do. 

About two weeks after I returned from my trip, as 
1 went to the bank I met Glypse Warnerk. I polite- 
ly bowed, and he returned the salutation with a show 
of politeness, but I noticed that he had a dogged, 
downcast look. I felt sorry for him, and went into 
the bank without paying much attention to him. 

That very night I was detained, and had to go 
home late, for business had been pressing all day. 
I could not help being late. As I went home I saw 
Glypse, in disguise, walking down the street; he 
didn’t see me. I went home; all was darkness, no 
happy smile or loving kiss or girlish figure to meet 
me at the door. Henrietta has gone to bed, I thought ; 
but when I lit the lamp I found my supposition not 
to be true. A note lay on the center table; I looked 
and read: 

Dearest Tom : I hope you will not be as broken-hearted as I 
am when you read this. I have left you, not because I do not 
love you, but because you are untrue to me. Another has 
alienated your affections from me; another vroman has blight- 
ed my home and my hope. Oh, how could you do it ? How 
could you break my heart for that silly woman? Tom, my 
dearest Tom, how lonely I will be! I have heard all; you need 
not deny it. You have been harboring Adeline with you at 
9 


130 A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 

the bank for the past week, and to-day she asked you to marry 
her, and you said: Marry you! yes, I would.” These are your 
own words. I have proof. O my Lord, why hast thou dealt 
so heavily with me? Tom, I pray that this is not true. I hope 
you will prove it to be otherwise. 0 my dearest one, I do not 
see how you could have done thus. To accuse a husband of 
such unfaithfulness is a great matter, I know, but I must not 
refrain. I shall always love you, but to live with you I cannot, 
with this scandal against you. So farewell, a long farewell. 

Your wife, Henrietta Cartier. 

Suicide was the first thing that entered my mind, 
although she said nothing of it: it must have been 
a premonition of mine. The house was not in any 
disorder; all was as tidy and clean as ever. It lacked 
but one thing of being home, and that was Henrietta. 
I was dumbfounded, I was beside myself with as- 
tonishment. I had never dreamed of such a thing 
as Henrietta leaving me, and thinking me untrue. 
I could prove beyond doubt that I was as true as 
steel. I sat down and began to think. 

It occurred to me that I ran a narrow risk of being 
waylaid. Was not Glypse Warnerk lurking around 
in disguise, waiting for me to go home, when he and 
Mr. Seaguards would assassinate me? As provi- 
dence would have it, I turned down an alley and 
missed them. How thankful I was that I had busi- 
ness that took me home by that route! But I need 
not be thankful; I was none too safe yet : a stealthy 
foe might be around watching me, and kill me after 
all. I dared not go to bed. I found a crumpled 
piece of paper that verified my suspicions and con- 
victions. I was afraid to stay alone, but I would do 
so anyhow. I would not hunt for my wife that night. 
I guessed she was at her father’s. After long reflec- 


LEFT. 131 

tion I concluded to write to her, as I stood no 
chance of seeing her soon. This is my letter: 

At Home. 

My Dearest Wife : When I read your letter I was amazed be- 
yond degree to think that you deemed me so faulty, and had 
gone, gone ! I could not believe it, but a search for you con- 
vinced me that you had left your happy home and husband. 
How could you have done so? Because “I am untrue.^’ What 
a false idea! I can prove that I am true. You did me a very 
great wrong in accusing me of so foul a crime. I did not know 
that Adeline Summers had such a character. I now remember 
how she came into the bank only once, where I was, and that 
was to-day. She came on business ; she wanted to find how a 
note stood, and to fix it accordingly. Stayed there a week,’’ 
eh! I supposed from the way in which she talked that she 
and Edgar Bruce were in love, and I began teasing her about 
him. She told me that he had proposed to her, and she wanted 
to know what I would do if I was one of the contracting par- 
ties — Edgar, for instance. I said : ‘‘I would marry you ; yes I 
would, if I were he.” This is true; I can prove it by more 
than one. Your father stepped in about this time, and, I sup- 
pose, heard only a part of the conversation, for we were talking 
in an undertone. Could you base any truthful charge on that ? 
Why did you not see me first, instead of going ofi*? I do not 
blame you as much as I do your old father and that scoundrel 
Glypse Warnerk; they knew the girl’s character, and are at the 
head of this plot against me. I do not expect this to be the 
last of their mischief. I have found out their plan. Thej’ ex- 
aggerated the little circumstance at the bank until it became 
something serious, just to set you against me ; and then they 
would kill me. I shall see to this, if the law does not. Some 
one has to suffer, for I mean what I say. 

0, Henrietta darling, why did you leave me? Why did you 
permit those heartless men to darken our happy home? I do 
not see how you could leave me when we love each other bet- 
ter than all else. Your father and that ruffian Warnerk would 
delight in breaking hearts and in ruining, even murdering, me. 
The idol of my household has been taken away. How sorrow- 
ful I am ! O, darling “ Castolina,” come back ! Come back to 


132 


A YEAE WITH UNCLE JACK. 


me, and let us live peaceably. 0, dearest one, you are not the 
cause of my desolation. I know you will come back if you 
can. 

Darling, do not let anyone see this. Know that I am faith- 
ful and true to you, living up to the sacred promises and vows 
I made at our marriage altar. Oh, it pains me to think that 
you would for a moment doubt my fidelity to these solemn 
pledges. You must believe me. I know it is commonly said 
that a woman believes everything she hears, sees, and even 
thinks. I do not charge you with this weakness, darling ; but 
if you do not possess it, you are an exception to a very general 
rule. I know that you will not be happy, and I want you to 
come. I think I have fully explained myself. Now, as man 
and wife let us live up to our vows. 

I am, my dearest one on earth, the same I ever will be — your 
husband. T. W. C. 

I had barely finished writing when some one 
rapped at my door. I could not decide whether to 
open it or not, so did not say anything. 

“O, Cartier, open up! What is the matter with 
you? ” 

I recognized the voice and opened the door. 
There stood James Burch and Edgar Bruce. I said: 
“Come in, gentlemen. I am alone this evening.” 

“Where’s your wife, old man? ” asked James; “is 
she gone ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered; “she is at her father’s.” 

“But I heard that you did not agree very well; is 
that so? ” 

“Yes, it is so; but I would have to go into details 
to explain it to you. What brings you two here so 
late?” 

“We have come to settle that oflSce bill; how 
much is it? Be in a hurry, for we leave to-morrow. 
Mr. Meirs could not attend to it to-day, and you were 


LEFT. 


133 


too busy. We called at the bank, but it was closed; 
so we came over here. Say, we had a little scrape 
as we were on our way. We met two men, one 
a nice-looking old man, the other we did not see 
very well. They surely mistook one of us for some- 
body else, and were about to assail us. When I spoke 
they must have recognized me, for they ran. They 
did not see but one of us at first. I am almost de- 
termined to report the affair to the police. It hap- 
pened in the very worst part of the town. What! 
what was that I heard? Listen, hark 1 Oh, it is 
only some one shooting off his pistol. Say, Cartier, 
get the books, for we want to go.” 

I gave them the books, and they settled the bill. 
They then started to leave, but I begged them to stay 
all night with me. They said they could not. I 
told them I was alone and afraid. When I heard 
their story and the pistol shots, I was indeed afraid. 
Finally they consented to stay if I would call them 
up early. I promised that I would do so. I slept in 
a room above, Ed and Jim in the front room below. 
I lay and thought, but could not go to sleep. Every 
little noise would scare me; the throbbing of my 
own heart sounded like the tolling of a distant 
bell ; even the chirrup of a cricket seemed like a 
death knell to me. I longed for daylight to come. 
I did not sleep a minute during the whole night. 
Finally, after waiting and fearing, I was aroused by 
Ed calling me; he wanted to know what time it was. 
I told him it was time to be up; so I arose and built 
a fire and cooked breakfast. Leader, you know 
something of my qualities as a cook. I had the 
boys off before train time. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

For Murder. 

I LEFT home before daylight. I mailed the letter to 
Henrietta, and went to the bank. Daylight soon 
came. An office boy handed me the morning paper, 
and the first thing I saw was: '^Mysterious Murder! 
One of Our Best Business Men Implicated '' I read the 
account. It was of a dead man found at my gate ! My 
hair stood on end. A bloody shirt found! — mine! I 
nearly fainted. A stranger, the murdered man. No 
motive; police have a clew. Witnesses, two — who? 
Glypse Warnerk and Mr. Seaguards. The accused 
not at home — wife away — a mean wolf in sheep’s 
clothing. Police on the watch at outgoing trains. 
Five hundred dollars reward for the murderer. A 
mob forming. 

As I read I grew faint. I saw that I was gone. I 
knew the murderers, but how to turn the tide was 
the puzzle.' I must suffer; I ought not to have been so 
lenient toward them in times past. But a little piece 
of paper — their plot — saved me and condemned them. 

My enemies had failed in their first attempt to 
ruin me; they had missed the occasion at the would- 
be wedding; they had failed the night before; and 
now they had me up for murder. They mistook Ed 
and Jim for me and some one else; and seeing one 
of them they thought it was I but when the other 
spoke they ran; or, finding that I had foiled them, 
they came to my gate, and meeting the stranger, still 
supposing it to be me, they killed him. I discerned 
all that in an instant. 


FOR MURDER. 


135 


I was expecting my arrest at any moment, so I went 
to my counsel and told him all. He was very much 
surprised to see me, and tried to hide me, but I 
laughingly bade him be quiet. As I stepped out of 
the office 1 was arrested. I could not make bond, 
for everybody had turned against me. Do you guess 
my enemies were laughing in their sleeves? Well, 
they would soon be crying aloud for mercy. 

At my request I was quickly arraigned in court, 
and a speedy trial followed. The two witnesses were 
there, looking triumphant. My lawyer first called 
the old farmer to the stand, and began asking him 
about my character. He said it was good as the 
people saw it, but when examined privately it was 
corrupt. He was on the point of repeating the lie 
he had told on me, which caused my wife to leave 
me, when my attorney asked him if he knew the pa- 
per (their own written plot). He fell backward; 
Glypse started; the room was in confusion. After 
order was restored the lawyer described the plot as 
he supposed it, and as it was. The witness came to 
our rescue and confessed, but begged for mercy — 
and I was free. The tables were turned: I pleaded 
an ahibi, and proved it by Edgar Bruce, James 
Burch, and that piece of paper. I was glad the 
boys stayed with me; they missed their train by 
being apprised of my arrest, but they did not care. 
I was exonerated. 

Of course I had my foes arrested. With my 
help their sentences were commuted to twenty years 
for Glypse and fifteen years for the old farmer, in- 
stead of life imprisonment. I could have prose- 
cuted them for attempting to take my life, for alien- 


136 


A YEAK WITH UNCLE JACK. 


ation of my wife’s affections, and for slander; but 1 
did not. 

Henrietta wrote to me: 

Dearest One: Will you forgive your own truant little wife 
for acting so rashly? I will come back to you, Tom, for I can- 
not live without you; I will come this evening. I hate the 
way my father does. He and Glypse received their just pun- 
ishment, but it will nearly kill mother. Try to cheer her. I 
accept your explanation. Tom, I wdll come never to leave 
again alive. I will tell you all when I see you. 

Your bride, Henrietta Cartier. 

That evening I was happy once more, for my wife 
and her mother came. There was nothing now to 
mar our happiness. My two relentless foes would 
soon be wearing the convicts’ striped uniform, and 
doing the state some service. 

I sold my house and lot and moved to the Sea- 
guards mansion. I was nearer my work now. If 
ever happiness came to a household, it was to that 
one. Although a cloud of shame hung over it, the 
farmer having lost his once good name and fair rec- 
ord through evil associations, no shame could rest on 
his wife and children. Good does sometimes come 
out of evil, doesn’t it? The farmer had been led 
astray by that arch deceiver, Glypse Warnerk. He 
would find it not in the least funny to be a convict; 
but he thought it would be T. W. Cartier instead of 
himself. How sadly mistaken he was! 

The last I saw of Glypse in Ledgerwood, for a 
long time, was on the day he was carried to the peni- 
tentiary. I said to him : “ Be sure vour sin will find 
you out.” He only turned his head slightly and 
uttered a violent oath. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

The Sequel. 

Time is the great changer of nature. It brings joy 
with every sorrow, sweet with every bitter. ‘‘What 
wonders hath time wrought!” It produces nations, 
and sees their rise, progress, and fall. Old Father 
Time, with his deadly scythe, sweeps along with fu- 
rious speed. 

“Castolina” and I love each other as dearly as 
ever. No more sorrow is to enter our happy abode — 
no sorrow save death, which is inevitable. 

Keader, I am telling the sequel of this story just 
as I told the rest of it. You have followed the char- 
acters through good report and evil report, and now 
I must close. I hope many a reader will gain as 
fair a prize as I did, but I sincerely hope none will 
have any of my unpleasant experiences. 

Seven years have passed since the visit of my 
childhood days to Uncle Jack’s. Many dear to me 
have been called from earth, while many more have 
left the places where I spent much of my time in 
early youth. I am still young, yet I feel rather old. 
My age is only twenty and six years. Many of my 
good kinsfolk have married since my delightful stay 
at Uncle Jack’s. 

Cousin Ethel and sister Lucy are attending school, 
preparing themselves for the great work of the Mas- 
ter in heathen lands. I think they will marry before 
they start for their destination. Thrumbull and 
Elias Bone are the lucky gentlemen, two nice young 
ministers. Ah! some mail for me — it is the in vita- 


138 


A YEAR WITH UNCLE JACK. 


tion to their wedding next Monday. Cousin Bertie, 
Mamie Bell, and James Burch are married and doing 
well, but they are in other climes. Cousin Tom is a 
fine, good-looking young man (I never expected it), 
“setting” the girls and having a good time in life; 
he is one of our prominent workers in the cause of 
education. I am still at the bank; have the same 
office 1 started with. Why not rise higher? What 
is the use of rising higher, when my income rises all 
the time? I work on commission now, and get one 
hundred dollars per month. I have the good will of 
all. My pretty little wife and I are respected by the 
richest and best people in Ledger wood. We expect 
to live here. 

Those who regard youthful marriage as a failure 
are mistaken. I advise all young people to marry. 
Marry while you love and can enjoy yourselves. 
Marry poor, if you cannot do any better. Marry 
anyhow, for economy’s sake — you will save what you 
make, when before you spent all. 

Well, you may inquire after the welfare of two 
more noted characters — Mr. Seaguards and Glypse 
Warnerk. I will tell you how they are getting along. 
Mr. Seaguards was pardoned by the governor on ac- 
count of ill health, after having served out four 
years of his sentence. He had aged considerably, 
and seemed a changed man in every respect. He 
lived with me two years, and we agreed in all things. 
I was instrumental in securing his pardon and re- 
lease. He had consumption, and died last year. 
My former rival, Glypse, was set free last year at my 
request, or approval. He married Adeline Sum- 
mers, and moved to the far West. He was as happy 


THE. SEQUEL. 


139 


as a bird. He moved away that he might be a bet- 
ter man, and forget the dishonorable scenes in which 
he acted at Ledger wood. I saw him once afterwards, 
happy and contented in his far-distant home. I also 
saw Cousin Mamie and her husband on the same 
trip out West. 

Edgar Bruce and J ennie Fowler married. All the 
rest of the connection are doing well. But I will 
hurry to a close, for I must see sister Lucy’s and 
Cousin Ethel’s double marriage^ They are to marry 
on the rear platform of the train that will carry 
them to the coast. 

I have the sweetest of wives and the happiest of 
homes. Kind reader, if you ever happen to pass 
through Ledgerwood, I wish you to call and see us. 
We would be happy to meet you, and would welcome 
you as cordially as we know how. While I am 
writing this for the author, a figure of exquisite 
beauty is bending over my shoulder and reading line 
after line. There! did you hear that? I kissed her 
and baby Tee Castolina; and here come Robert and 
Leoan to say farewell to you. 

I know it is hard to part, but I must say farewell 
to all. I wish everyone happiness and success in 
the fullest measure. My better half and three pretty 
ones join with me in this good wish. 

In saying a final adieu I do not know whether to 
ofPer any apologies or not. It suffices that I have had 
the opportunity and privilege of relating this story. 
We ask that you always think kindly of Mr. and Mrs. 
Cartier and their three little ones. May Heaven bless 
you, my readers, with the choicest things of this life, 
and crown you at last with immortal bays! 










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